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A 


TRAGEDY OF ERRORS. 


BY 


FRANK MUNSEY, 


AUTHOR OF “ UNDER FIRE,” “AFLOAT IN A GREAT CITY, 

“THE BOY BROKER.” 


New York: 

FRANK A. MUNSEY & COMPANY. 

1889. 


’■"A 

t" ^ z- " 



Copyrighted i88q by 

FRANK A. MUNSEY, 

rights reserved. ) 





/ 


To Mr. Charles E. Rushmore 

I DEDICATE THIS VOLUME WITH 


KINDEST REGARDS. 






LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS. 


The situation was not one I could have wished^* 

[Frontispiece. 

It is Van Gilding driving^'' exclaimed 

Bambridge^ .... Page 48 

“ We are sailing on different lakes., sepa- 
rated by great golden reef s^ . “ 64 

With flushed face and hard., bitter look, 
he turned his back haughtily upon 


Bainbridge, .... 

“ 112 

What is worrying yotc, my dear father V 

“ 128 

I could not help feeling that she was supe- 


rior to all the women I ever metf 

“ 160 

Here is the ring which once I loved — take 


it, hide it fro 7 n my eyes,'' . 

“ 288 

I am so happy to see my little book praised 


so warmly," .... 

“ 400 








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A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS. 


I. 


H, here comes Bainbridge,” said Goggins to 



^ ^ himself, suddenly raising his eyes, as he 
sauntered across the campus in a thoughtful 
mood. “ Good morning, Bain,” he called out 
while his fellow student was yet some distance 


away. 


“ Good morning, Goggins,” returned Bain- 
bridge with equal warmth of salutation. “ I’m 
glad to see you are out so early. Taking a con- 
stitutional, I suppose? ” 

“Well, yes, something of the sort, and thinking 
of your splendid victory last night. It was a sur- 
prise to every one.” 

“ A surprise? ” 


“ Yes.” 


“You, even, had no faith in me then,” said 
Bainbridge, coloring slightly, his pride touched. 

“ Come, old boy, now don’t be unreasonable,” 
replied Goggins. 

“ I do not mean to be unreasonable — you ought 


lO 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS. 


to know that, Goggins, but ” — and Bainbridge 
hesitated, possibly for the right word to express 
his thought, or more likely to debate in his own 
mind if the thought should be spoken — if it would 
be politic to speak it. 

“ I think I understand you, Bain, and it is only 
natural that you feel as you do. Van Gilding is 
arrogant and overbearing.” 

“ I care nothing for his arrogance,” answered 
Bainbridge, snapping his fingers suggestively. 

“ You can well afford to say that now, old fel- 
low, for you gave him such a drubbing as one sel- 
dom gets in a college debate.” 

“ It was the opportunity I have been waiting 
for.” 

“ And you improved it handsomely, and in a 
way, I fear, that will make Van Gilding your 
enemy for life.” 

“ He could hardly have been considered my 
friend before last night’s debate. I doubt, there- 
fore, if I have lost much.” 

I know you and he have not been on the most 
cordial terms, but I always supposed that the 
coolness between you was simply due to his 
haughty manner.” 

“ No, not that alone, though that one character- 
istic was quite enough to cause me to keep away 
from him.” 

“ What then was the main cause of your bitter 
dislike for him? ” 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS. 


II 


“ Why do you say bitter dislike? I have not 
said that I have any such feeling.” 

“ It is not necessary that you should say it in so 
many words. You expressed it quite forcibly 
enough in the cutting satire you hurled at him 
last night, and in your manner as you spoke. I 
have never seen you half so much in earnest.” 

“ I had to be a good, deal in earnest to debate 
with one of Van Gilding’s reputation in college as 
a speaker — especially so,” continued Bainbridge, 
sarcastically, “ when all my friends expected, as 
you say, that I would be so easily silenced.” 

“ I think, Bain, you can well afford now to be 
magnanimous and make no further reference to 
our lack of faith in you as a speaker. Your victory 
insures you the position of class orator, and was 
all the greater in our eyes, inasmuch as we did not 
expect it. And now to return to my question.” 

“ Which was ? ” 

“ Which was the cause of your especial dislike 
for Van Gilding.” 

“ Oh, I remember. I hardly know, however, 
what reply to make you, Goggins, inasmuch as I 
avoid, as far as possible, all disagreeable subjects. 
Let us drop this line of thought, then, and discuss 
something more agreeable.” 

“ No, we can’t do it, Bain. My interest is astir 
— my curiosity presses for an answer, and when 
my curiosity is aroused it is irresistible. I’m 
dangerous when I’m dangerous.” 


12 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS. 


“ That’s strange,” laughed Bainbridge, “ but 
you are an odd Dick any way, Goggins. You are 
the embodiment of the unexpected. To be 
dangerous when you are dangerous is a rare trait, 
and it is most fortunate that your ferocity shows 
at no other time.” 

“ That’s so, Bain. Do you know that you are a 
mighty clever fellow? No ordinary college man 
would discover my strong points as quickly. But 
let me say to you that this won’t do. I’m not the 
subject just at this moment for discussion. You 
have dodged the question at least twice in the last 
four minutes. Now to the point, and the point is, 
what was the trouble between you and Van Gild- 
ing?” 

“ I yield, Goggins, to your wishes, but on one 
condition only.” 

“ And that is? ” 

“ And that is that the conversation be not re- 
peated. I do not mind talking it over with you, 
for I am satisfied that your friendship is genuine. 
I would not, however, like to have the matter 
talked over by others and distorted to a disagree- 
able degree.” 

“ I accept your condition, Bain, and will honor 
your confidence. Here is my hand on it.” 

“ Very well, Goggins, your curiosity shall be 
satisfied. Come along with me for a chop and a 
cup of coffee — you have not breakfasted yet? ” 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS, 


13 


II. 

“ OU know, I suppose, Goggins,” began Bain- 
bridge, while serving the chops a few min- 
utes later, “ that I am paying my own way in col- 
lege, and that ” 

Paying your own way? ” repeated the other, 
incredulously. 

“ Yes, why not? ” 

“ Nonsense, Bain. You look a heap like the 
boys that get through here without money, don’t 
you? Do you mean to say that no one is putting 
up for you? ” 

“Well, yes, that is about the size of it, as I un- 
derstand the situation,” returned Bainbridge, en- 
joying his friend’s surprise. 

“ How do you do it, old fellow? I wish I knew 
how myself. I think I’d like it enough sight bet- 
ter than calling on the governor for every cent — 
that is. I’d like it if I could do the thing up in the 
style you do. But deliver me, please, from skin- 
ning through here as many of the boys have to.” 

“ If you wish to know all this — how I have man- 
aged my finances — I shall have to go back to my 
boyhood to make the matter clear to you — to put 
it in such a way that it will appear reasonable. I 
will be brief, however. 


H yi TRAGEDY OF ERRORS. 

“ My father is not especially interested in turn- 
ing out a college-educated son. It is well that he 
is not, for if he were, he could not help me to any 
great extent without an unwise sacrifice in my be- 
half — a sacrifice that I would not allow him to 
make. His income is not sufficient to warrant 
him in spending any portion of it on a superior 
education for me. He is, like the great majority 
of our New England people, in comfortable cir- 
cumstances, With frugality and industry he 
makes a good living. He owns his farm, is con- 
tented with his lot and lives happily — a respected, 
honest, average citizen. The keen edge of am- 
bition has never cut him deeply. His father owned 
the farm now owned by him. The one tills it 
essentially as the other did. My grandfather was 
an Andrew Jackson Democrat. My father holds 
dear the same sentiments. He would have been 
satisfied with me had I followed the same ances- 
tral path even as closely as he has held to it. 
With miy restless ambition such a life would have 
been worse than death. Whenever I went into 
town, I saw there on every hand what wealth and 
enterprise had done. The activity of city people, 
their dress, their manner, the fine buildings, beau- 
tiful streets, and the very atmosphere, all were as 
tonic to my young ambition. 

“ I resolved, therefore, at a very early age, upon 
a different career from that follov/ed by my imme- 
diate ancestors. 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS. 


5 


I’m not going to burden you, Goggins, with a 
detailed account of my boyhood. I have told you 
this much, however, that you may understand 
how it is that I have to meet all the expense of my 
college education. A slight knowledge, too, of 
my history, will enable you to appreciate more 
fully the situation w^hen I reach that point in my 
story bearing on Van Gilding and his attitude 
towards me.” 

“This sound like a novel, Bain; upon my word, 
I believe you could write a good book,” said Gog- 
gins, with evident interest. 

“ I’m glad you are not bored, and — ” 

“ Anything but that, old fellow, I assure you,” 
interrupted Goggins heartily. 

“ Briefly told, then, I left the farm when only 
twelve years old, having secured through a friend 
of my mother’s a position as cash boy in a large 
dry goods house. Shortly after going to the city 
I made the acquaintance of a young man in the 
telegraph service. He worked nights, and as I 
had nothing to do evenings I spent much of my 
time with him, becoming at the end of a few weeks 
deeply interested in telegraphy. All my spare 
time I spent in practicing the art under his direc- 
tions. 

“ To become a superior telegraph operator one 
must commence the business very young. I have 
never known a thoroughly first class operator who 
began learning his profession after reaching 


i6 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS. 


the age of twenty. My youth, therefore, you can 
see, was in my favor, and I seemed to have especial 
adaptability to the business. In addition to this 
I was so much fascinated by it that I could hardly 
take time to eat my supper, so anxious was I to 
get at the key and talk with some novice like my- 
self, one or two hundred miles away. This per- 
sistent and untiring effort in a short time resulted 
in my becoming quite a fair operator — a marvel- 
ously good one for a boy of my age. The position 
as cash boy I now gave up for one at telegraph- 
ing, which paid me thirty five dollars a month — 
an extraordinary salary for a boy of thirteen. 

“ From one position to another I advanced in 
the Western Union service till at the age of seven- 
teen I was receiving a salary of seventy dollars a 
month. I had now almost reached the top round 
of advancement as a telegraph operator. Realiz- 
ing this fact, I became uneasy and dissatisfied. 
The work lost all its attractiveness, and I fretted 
under the bonds of limitation that kept me from 
further promotion. I looked about me for some 
way out of the difficulty, but could see none. I 
tried to secure a situation in some other business 
where the possibilities for advancement were 
greater. All efforts in this direction, however, 
failed. Month by month I became more restless; 
month by month my prospects grew more and 
more obscure. That I had made a wrong start in 
entering the telegraph service I was fully convinced. 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS. 


7 


“ How to recommence my career, then, was the 
question that pressed me for solution. Had I re- 
mained in the mercantile business I would have 
been in line for a limitless career. To go back to 
the cash boy, however, at my age was out of the 
question, and yet I realized that my services would 
be of little more value to my old employer than 
they were when I entered his service at the age of 
twelve. Then I knew nothing of his business, and 
could make myself valuable to him in no other 
way than to do as I was told. Now, with all my 
energy and ambition, I could do little more. I 
realized, after reasoning in this way for a time, 
that the avenue to competency and success is to 
know something well — to be so skilled in it that 
the competition of others becomes ineffective. 

“ Not finding such an opening as I sought, I de- 
termined at length to fit myself fc - college. An 
education, I argued, would help me in whatever 
field of labor I should enter, and it would open 
doors for advancement through which I could not 
wisely hope to pass without it. Once determining 
upon this course, I threw all my energy into 
books. My position in the telegraph service I 
kept, that I might have the means to carry out my 
purpose. I engaged a tutor at a small expense, 
and under his instruction fitted myself for Yale, 
entering at nineteen. 

My knowledge of telegraphy, you see, came in 
to good purpose after I had determined upon sc- 


i8 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS. 


curing an education. The salary I had earned 
while working at it as a boy was much larger than 
I could have got at almost any other employment. 
From my income I had laid by nearly two thou- 
sand dollars — the sum total of my capital at the 
time of entering college. I have, however, earned 
money since then. Each vacation has been spent 
at some summer resort in the service of the tele- 
graph company. Last summer I was at the Man- 
hanset House, Shelter Island. My office was 
situated in a part of the hotel much frequented by 
guests. There they read their books and papers; 
there they did their letter writing, and lounged 
about in easy chairs and on comfortable couches, 
chatting, laughing, dragging idly through a sum- 
mer day. 

“ Situated thus I naturally became familiar with 
the faces of all the guests. Many of them came 
to me from time to time asking questions about 
the arrival of trains and boats, the condition of 
the weather in New York, and so on — whatever 
their fancy led them to suppose one in my position 
should know. Of telegraphing, too, they did quite 
a little. Thus you will see that I was brought in 
contact with them constantly — was one of them, 
and yet was not one of them. To be so much with 
people and yet to be so widely separated by the 
social barrier is galling to one of my spirit. 

“You know nothing of this, Goggins, and can- 
not understand exactly how the situation irritated 


A TRAGIlDY or errors. 


19 


me. You have had the good fortune to be sup- 
plied with all the money you have needed." 

“ No, I cannot of course realize just how you 
felt," returned Goggins thoughtfully. “ But as to 
whether it is a good fortune to have all of one’s 
bills paid by his father is a question with me. All 
this experience you have had will prove good 
capital some day, Bain. But go on with your 
story — I’m getting a good deal interested." 

“Very well, then; we will discuss this point at 
some other time,” said Bainbridge, sipping his 
coffee with evident relish. “ In former seasons,” 
he continued, “ my office has been in a less con- 
spicuous place, and I saw little of the guests, ex- 
cept as they came to me on business. The social 
question, therefore, troubled me less. Here, how- 
ever, they were before me all the time — beautiful 
girls and ugly spinsters; simple old women and 
bright faced, clever matrons; rich, well fed men 
and their thin headed sons. A good place was 
mine to study character, a good place to grow 
satirical and bitter. I often laughed to myself as 
I watched the ridiculous young snobs promenad- 
ing pompously with the young ladies. It was still 
more amusing to listen, as I was often forced to 
do, to their idiotic conversation — thin, cold, blood- 
less. TIow bright girls, with warm hearts and act- 
ive intellects, could listen to such rubbish was a 
mystery to me. They did it, however, with seem- 
ing relish, much to my disgust. The patronizing 


20 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS. 


manner and self-importance of these nursery 
youths, looking condescendingly from their social 
eminence down upon all who were not in their 
own fortunate sphere, was intensely galling. 

“ In college my standing in my class and record 
with the oars have given me, as you know, Gog- 
gins, a very satisfactory position — such a position 
as I aim to reach wherever I am in life. At this 
hotel, however, the fact that I happened to be an 
employee debarred me from all social pleasures. 
Had I been there as a guest, I see no reason why 
I should have been received less warmly than 
others. Such a custom of measuring one’s merits, 
I thought then, as I think now, is all wrong. For 
the social system, therefore, I had no admiration, 
nothing but contempt. Most men are at heart 
anarchists of a mild type in adversity and pov- 
erty. In prosperity they become the reverse, and 
are the hard hearted, hard headed monopolists. I 
fancy the same characteristics asserted themselves 
with me, only my rebellious feelings related to the 
social question instead. 

“ The amount of work I had to do was not bur- 
densome. My board cost me nothing, and my 
salary was very satisfactory. My vacation, so far 
as health and recreation are concerned, was as 
beneficial to me as if I had been a guest of the 
hotel. The air was as free to me as to those who 
paid large prices for their accommodations. The 
song of the birds was no sweeter to their ears 


yl TRACED V OF ERRORS. 


21 


than to mine. All the opportunity for reading I 
could have wished for I had. Of exercise there 
was no lack, for I gave an hour or more to rowing 
or swimming every day. The early morning was 
my favorite time for this. Frequently, however, 
after closing my office for the night I would take 
to my boat for a good pull, a pleasure of which I 
never tire. It was on one of these occasions I got 
a view of the mean side of Van Gilding’s character. 
I thought I knew him well before, but I did not. 
I doubt if I know him at his worst yet. 

“ That you may know him as well as I, I must 
go back a little. One day when I had been at the 
hotel several weeks, I sat at my desk drumming 
at the key and studying the promenaders with, I 
imagine, somewhat of a cynical sneer. Presently 
my office call clicked several times over on the 
sounder. I answered the summons and received 
a message which read something like this: 

New York, July 25. 

To Manhanset House, Shelter Island, N. Y.: 

Reserve good room for me. Will arrive five o’clock 
with the Cromptons. 

(Signed) J. Norman Van Gilding. 

“ Undisguised surprise could have been seen in 
my face as I wrote down the signature and 
acknowledged the receipt of the message. 

‘“Van Gilding of my class,’ I said to myself, 
with a thrill of pleasure. ‘ I shall be mighty glad 
to see one of the boys. He is coming with a 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS. 


party and will, of course, be in the swim.’ Being 
his classmate, I thought my days of isolation were 
at an end. I became enthusiastic over the pros- 
pect before me, for between you and me, Goggins, 
there were a number of awfully sweet girls at the 
hotel whom I was most anxious to meet.” 

“ A touch of heartache; I see, Bain,” laughed 
Goggins. “This accounts for your' satirical 
stricture on the dudes.” 

“ Well, perhaps so. I confess that I was, and 
am still, not insensible to the charms of nature’s 
sweetest product.” 

“Well put, Bain — your usual way of saying ele- 
gant things. But go on with the Van Gilding 
episode.” 

“ Thanks, Goggins, my boy. Your compliments 
are always welcome; make me feel an inch or so 
taller, you know. But I will proceed. The ban 
of social inferiority being, as I anticipated, as good 
as removed from me, I gave myself up to fancifui 
imaginings. In such a mood how delightfully one 
deceives himself. From cold, stern reason his 
mind cuts loose and floats away to scenes of 
romance and perfect happiness. I shall not tell 
you how absurd my fancies were. 

“ On Van Gilding’s arrival he stood at the office, 
talking with the clerk. A passing couple at- 
tracted his attention, and he turned round, facing 
my office. As he did so, his eyes met mine. He 
stared confusedly for an instant, then turned again 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS. 


23 


to the clerk, with evident embarrassment. I 
understood him instantly, and my cheeks burned 
with indignation. What a contrast this actual 
meeting from the one of my fancy! The reaction 
was disheartening, but my pride came to my aid, 
and I felt more in a fighting mood than ever be- 
fore in my life. 

“ He asked the clerk my name, as I afterwards 
learned. Knowing now for a certainty that a 
classmate of his was present in so humble a 
capacity, he moved hurriedly from my view, wear- 
ing on his face a look of extreme perplexity.” 

“ That’s the meanest trick, Bain, I ever heard 
of,” exclaimed Goggins, bringing his fist down 
upon the table savagely. “ I can’t understand 
how a classmate could do such a shabby thing.” 

“ You can’t understand it, Goggins, because you 
are not built that way,” returned Bainbridge, en- 
joying his friend’s show of spirit. “ If you were 
constituted as Van Gilding is, you could do it as 
he did.” 

“ Thank Heaven, I am not so constituted. Such 
selfish snobbery is contemptible.” 

“ But I have not reached the meat in the cocoa- 
nut yet,” resumed Bainbridge, with growing 
enthusiasm, as he lived over again this summer 
episode. “ The fact that Van Gilding trained with 
another set than my own in college did not occur 
to me, so suddenly had I launched myself into 
rose tinted imagination. Members of the same 


24 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS. 


class, meeting accidentally at a summer resort, I 
took for granted would be friends. And this rea- 
soning would doubtless have proved sound had 
we met there as guests. The inequality in our 
positions, however, proved too much to be over- 
looked by one so exclusive as Van Gilding. He* 
sought, moreover, to be the social leader of the 
hotel. To lower himself to be intimate with me 
was a sacrifice he would not make. 

“ I was supporting myself by work; he was be- 
ing supported by the wealth of his ancestors. The 
accident that made us members of the same class 
in college gave me no claims upon him socially. 

I could have appreciated a warm, manly courtesy 
from him, but I did not seek it. His position 
would have enabled him to do much for me with- 
out injury to himself. He did not, however, have 
the generosity to do it. 

“ With Van Gilding came Wilson D. Crompton, 
his daughter and sister. Mr. Crompton is a 
prominent broker in Wall Street. His wife being 
dead, his daughter was chaperoned by his sister — 
a pleasant faced' widow of sober years. But Miss 
Crompton was the one on whom all eyes turned 
with admiring glances. Her age I should say was 
seventeen. Possibly eighteen summers had con- 
tributed alike generously to the production of so 
rare a girl. She was not pretty in the ordinary 
sense. Her charms lay in the extraordinary har- 
mony of a whole. 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS. 


25 


“ The lines of beauty, you know, my boy, in a 
woman’s face are essentially weak. The stronger 
elements, those that suggest character and force 
of intellect, border more closely on the masculine 
than the feminine type. The pretty face suggests 
over modeling, a sacrifice of everything to delicate 
curves. Angles and straight lines, on the other 
hand, are ugly in the feminine face, though in 
them one reads strength, intellect and force of 
will. 

“ I often look at a pretty face feeling annoyed 
with nature that she should come so near produc- 
ing an exquisite type of beauty, failing only by 
omitting the important element of character. 
Without this no face possesses that which holds 
men’s admiration. In Miss Crompton this desir- 
able element was not wanting. It did not, how- 
ever, obtrude itself upon the eye. The straight 
lines, the angles and the curves were so delicately 
blended together that each was lost in the other, 
producing a rarely pleasing effect. Her beauty, 
though, was most noticeable in action. Few faces 
so young light up as hers did in conversation. A 
roguish smile, revealing glimpses of pretty teeth, 
added greatly to the attractiveness of her pre- 
sence. Her manner, her well developed figure, 
tall and straight, the fresh healthful glow on her 
cheeks, all suggested a devotion to out door 
sports.” 

“ Your description of this girl, Bain, softens the 


26 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS. 


case against Van Gilding a good deal,” broke in 
Goggins. 

“ How is that? ” queried Bainbridge, puzzled. 

“ Why, it’s plain enough. Do you suppose, 
under the circumstances, I would have done differ- 
ently from what Van Gilding did?” 

“ I don’t think I catch the line of your reason- 
ing, Goggins.” 

“ Modest as ever, Bain; else you would see at 
once that Van Gilding looked upon you as a 
dangerous man, situated as he was.” 

“ I cannot see wherein I am over modest, as 
your view of the case is just the one taken by me.” 

“ Yes, Bain; the same, only not the same. You 
forget that when one is striving for a prize he 
aims not to increase the number of his competi- 
tors.” 

“ But I was no competitor of his.” 

“ No, of course not; but — ah, my boy, wh}^ this 
heightened color? ” 

“ Now don’t get absurd, Goggins; if you do I 
shall tell you nothing more.” 

“ Oh, but to stop now, Bain, would be cruel. 
I’m thunderingly interested.” 

“ Very well, then, stop your nonsense.” 

Goggins made no reply, but winked suggest- 
ively — a way he had at times. 

“Your suggestion of competition or rivalry,” 
continued Bainbridge, “ reminds me that Van 
Gilding was not free from its effect.” 


A TRACED V OF ERRORS. 


27 


“Just what I thought,” interrupted Goggins, 
with assumed seriousness. “ I think Van Gilding 
would have been justified in drowning you.” 

“ That would not have been an easy thing to 
do, had he had cause for so rash a measure. You 
forget, Goggins, that I only knew the young lady 
as a clerk knows a guest. She had not been there 
long, however, when every man with the least ad- 
miration for beauty sought an introduction to her, 
and some of them became pronounced rivals of 
Van Gilding. I was perhaps as capable of admir- 
ing her as those fortunate enough to be her 
friends. Her youth and laughing eyes appealed 
to me, I dare say, no less strongly than to others 
— perhaps with greater force than to those less 
sensitive to the merits of a superior woman. Be- 
tween us, however, there stood the same- barrier 
that had loomed up between me and those that 
reigned belles before her arrival. To be frank 
with you, Goggins, I did admire the girl; but only 
as one loves art for its own sake though it may be 
the property of another. 

“ We can admire a beautiful sunset, the tints of 
the rainbow, or the view from a mountain peak, 
though we cannot compass them and call them 
our own. Somewhat in this way I must have 
looked upon Miss Crompton. She was beyond 
me, even as the sunset, yet as beautiful and bright 
for my admiration. Never expecting to meet her 
myself, I got a good deal of satisfaction out of 


28 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS. 


watching Van Gilding’s evident misery when she 
happened to be promenading with some other 
man. It is perhaps hardly commendable in me, 
Goggins, to make such an admission.” 

“ It was only human, Bain, to feel that way; 
and whatever is human, I think, is commendable.” 

“Well, that is a thought that never occurred to 
me, old fellow. I do not know that I would sub- 
scribe to it.” 

“ You’d better do so,” laughed Goggins. “ You 
see, Bain, it lets you down easily.” 

“ That’s the most attractive phase of the philoso- 
phy to me. But I’ll pass on, for this story is con- 
suming too much time. I referred, you will re- 
member, to going out rowing after business hours 
at night. On bright moonlight evenings there is 
nothing in the world more enjoyable to me than 
to be out on the water. This feeling, I think, is 
pretty general, judging from the number of 
people one sees in boats at such times. In the 
early part of August we had a number of especi- 
ally beautiful evenings — light almost as day. It 
was during this time that the incident, to which I 
have led up, occurred. After my work for the 
day was over, I hurried down to the landing and 
jumped into my boat, thinking I would spend a 
couple of hours at least by myself, pulling and 
idling my time away as I saw fit. I had been out 
perhaps an hour and was rowing leisurely home- 
ward when I heard a voice directed, as I imagined, 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS. 


29 


to me. Resting my oars and turning my eyes in 
the direction from whence the sound came, I 
noticed at some distance a boat containing several 
persons. Thinking that some accident might 
have happened, and knowing that as the tide was 
low the boat could have run upon a rock, I threw 
my weight upon my oars and soon found myself 
plowing through the water at a rapid rate. As I 
drew near the boat I heard a lady say, ‘ Oh, Mr. 
Van Gilding, it is our telegraph man.’ The voice 
was soft and musical, and betrayed surprise and 
delight — not the delight of joy expressed on unex- 
pectedly meeting a friend, but rather that sort 
witnessed when one rescues another from danger. 
The voice of the speaker I did not recognize, but 
the name she uttered made plain to me the situa- 
tion. I was paralyzed for an instant with sur- 
prise, and my oars dragged through the water as 
the boat sped along. What strange thoughts 
darted through my mind in that first realization 
of my changed relation to Miss Crompton and 
Van Gilding. The sensation was peculiar and 
contradictory. I was not wanting in magnani- 
mity; I did not lack a less desirable elem^t of 
human nature. Each asserted itself, and sug- 
gested the proper thing to do under the circum- 
stances. Presence of mind, however, did not 
leave me long, and when this dominates one’s 
acts, suggestions of revenge are most effectually 
ignored. 


30 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS. 


“ I assumed a cool exterior, and the agitation I 
felt was unobservable by those in the boat, as I 
drew alongside and asked if anything had hap- 
pened to place them in need of assistance. Van 
Gilding had been bailing out the boat with his 
cap. Learning that I was the rescuing party, he 
still feigned to keep this up, when I put the ques- 
tion, which was not addressed to any one in par- 
ticular. A pause followed — only for an instant, 
but how long it seemed — when it was broken by 
Miss Crompton, who said, with evident embarrass- 
ment, ‘Yes; our boat ran on a rock, and is now 
leaking badly. Will you render us some assist- 
ance?’ ‘Certainly, with pleasure,’ L replied. ‘I see 
a good deal of water is already in your boat. 
If your escort will cease bailing and hold the 
boats together, I will at once transfer you to my 
boat.’ ‘You are very kind,’ replied Miss Cromp- 
ton, looking with amazement at Van Gilding. 
‘ How fortunate that you heard us calling for 
assistance,’ remarked the aunt, preparing to step 
into my boat. Van Gilding had by this time re- 
covered his senses to some degree, though he acted 
as if wretchedly ill at ease. The situation was not 
one I would have sought, much as I wanted to 
meet Miss Crompton, and bitter as I felt toward 
Van Gilding. Having him at such decided disad- 
vantage I was disposed, at first, seeing his utter 
embarrassment, to relent towards him, but this 
feeling did not last long when I discovered his 


A I'RAGEDV OF ERRORS. 


31 


willingness to usurp my place in my own boat, 
and trust me to the uncertain fate of his fractured 
craft. I admire magnanimity in others; I aim to 
practice it myself. It comes hard sometimes; it 
came hard on this occasion. I launched a little of 
it, however, in offering my oars to Van Gilding, 
when the ladies had been safely transferred. ‘ I 
will take your boat,’ said I, addressing him, 
though taking care not to speak his name or 
recognize him in any way. ‘ Thank you,’ he said, 
in a thankless manner, stepping into my boat as I 
jumped into his. 

“ ‘ No, no,’ cried both ladies in chorus, ‘you must 
not risk your life in that sinking boat.’ ‘I think I 
can reach shore all right in it,’ I replied quietly, 
and at the same time placing the oars in position 
for rowing. Van Gilding seated himself and 
quickly prepared to move away. It was evident 
and natural under the circumstances that the 
sooner we could part company the better he would 
feel. The situation was extremely annoying to 
him; it was awkward for me. I had a peculiar 
desire to remain with the party, since fickle fate 
had so strangely brought us together, and yet I 
felt that the damaged boat on the whole was more 
desirable since the relations between Van Gilding 
and myself were so very strained. The ladies I 
did not know. Their names were familiar to me, 
yet I assumed not to recognize them. With too 
much spirit to be treated as a porter, and with no 


32 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS. 


claims to be treated as an equal, I could not an- 
ticipate much pleasure in going home in the same 
boat with them. 

“Mrs. Woodman, however, insisted that I leave 
the damaged boat. Miss Crompton’s eyes filled 
with tears as she pleaded with me. I w'as slow to 
yield. The coaxing was too sweet to be needlessly 
abridged. The end you can guess, though, Cog- 
gins. I did just what you would have done.” 

“ You would have been an idiot — a blank headed 
idiot, old man, if you hadn’t gone back into your 
own boat,” remarked Coggins. “ Why, it was 
fate, man, that threw you in with them.” 

“Oh, bother fate, Coggins, I have no faith in 
that. It was something more substantial — a rock 
in the Sound with a jagged edge.” 

“ Practical as usual, Bain; but go on. This sus- 
pense with you in the sinking boat and the sweet- 
est of sweet girls coaxing you to come in out of 
the wet is too much for my nervous tempera- 
ment.” 

“Very well,” laughed Bainbridge, “your nerves 
must not be shattered. On my return to my own 
boat,” he continued, “ the question arose as to 
what disposition should be made of me. One of 
two places I could occupy — the oarsman’s seat, or 
the bow of the boat. Van Cilding held the oars, 
and evinced no purpose to give them up. I there- 
fore passed to the bow, resigned to innocuous de- 
suetude, whereupon another protest came from 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS. 


33 


Mrs, Woodman. ‘Mr. — ’ she said, and hesitated 
as if perplexed to know how to address me. 
‘Bainbridge is my name,’ I said, thinking it only 
polite to relieve her of embarrassment. ‘ Thank 
you,’ she replied, rather warmly, ‘ it is so difficult, 
you know, Mr. Bainbridge, to manage conversa- 
tion with strangers.’ I assented that it was a little 
stiff, but remarked that trivial formalities were of 
little moment under such circumstances as we were 
then placed in. ‘ That is very true, and the obser- 
vation leads on to the question I started to ask 
you. Will you not row us home — the boat is 
yours?’ I hesitated a moment, awaiting Van 
Gilding’s pleasure. He made no response and 
gave no indication by his manner of any purpose 
to change places with me. 

“‘We are a heavy load, auntie,’ said Miss 
Crompton. ‘ Perhaps Mr. Bainbridge would not 
care to undertake such a task.’ ‘It would be 
rather a pleasure than otherwise,’ I replied. ‘We 
should feel so much safer with you at the oars,’ 
remarked Mrs. Woodman. ‘You must know these 
waters well, Mr. Bainbridge, and can avoid the 
dangerous places.’ ‘Yes,’ said I, moving toward 
the center seat; ‘I have rowed about here a good 
deal, and am familiar with the places that should 
be avoided.’ There was nothing more for Van 
Gilding to do but to go to the bow, and as he 
would be at my back in this position I rather liked 
the change. A stronger reason yet, as you will 


34 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS. 


see presently, Goggins, appealed to me. My boat 
would seat comfortably four persons besides my- 
self. As there were but three in the rescued party, 
it was necessary that they be placed so as to 
balance the craft properly. Mrs. Woodman, as a 
matter of chance, or as you would say, old fellow, 
by the sly maneuverings of fate, chose the single 
seat in the stern. Miss Crompton, therefore, 
naturally took the one next to her — the one 
directly in front of the oarsman’s. This arrange- 
ment was very satisfactory to Van Gilding, so long 
as he held the oars. To be relegated to my rear, 
however — to see me by the change brought face to 
face with Miss Crompton — to feel that I was the 
greater force for the time and he the lesser, was all 
bitterly humiliating to his pride. He had treated 
me as an inferior — one without family name or 
wealth to gild my career; and now, through a 
strange freak of misfortune, I was destined to 
hold for the next half hour a superior place in the 
eyes of those of all others whose good opinion he 
craved. 

“ His manner indicated all this, and his usual 
dow of small talk ceased altogether. Mrs. Wood- 
man and Miss Crompton were evidently as much 
annoyed as puzzled by his strange conduct. They 
vainly tried to joke him into good humor, and 
urged him not to take the accident to heart so 
seriously. This, of course, was said for my bene- 
fit, with the clever aim to mislead me and show 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS. 


35 


some cause for Van Gilding’s rudeness to one do- 
ing him and his party the service I was then per- 
forming. With only monosyllabic encourage- 
ment Miss Crompton soon became weary of coax- 
ing one in his mood; and for the remainder of the 
time we were together she devoted her conversa- 
tion with clever art to me — tantalizing art to Van 
Gilding. It was gall for him; it was glory for me. 
I had not sought revenge. It came, however, so 
unexpectedly, and from a source that even fancy 
could not have hit upon. 

“ ‘ What a beautiful stroke you have, Mr. Bain- 
bridge,’ she remarked, watching my rowing with 
intelligent interest. 

“ ‘ I ought to handle the oars fairly well,’ I re- 
sponded, thanking her warmly for the compli- 
ment. 

“ ‘ You have had a good deal of practice, then.^’ 

“‘Yes; perhaps more than most men of my 
age,’ I answered in a way that stimulated her 
curiosity. 

“ ‘ But I hardly see,’ she continued, ‘ how you 
could take the time from your business. Telegra- 
phy, I have alv/ays supposed, is very confining.’ 

“ ‘ Yes, so it is; but only my summer vacation is 
occupied at that business,’ I replied. The moon 
shone full in her face, revealing distinctly the ex- 
pression of her eyes and mouth as she talked. 
My reply to her last remark, I could see, kindled 
her curiosity; but I thought I would not hurry to 


36 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS. 


make known my college relations, preferring to 
leave it to her own ingenuity to discover them for 
herself.” 

“ Now that was art — the genuine art of con- 
versation, Bain, old boy,” remarked Goggins. 

I knew you were clever at a lot of things, but 
pon my word I didn’t suspect you of this sort of 
thing.” 

“ I shall never finish this story, Goggins, if you 
keep interrupting me with these compliments.” 

“ Blame it all, I cannot help it — get excited — 
warm to the plot — something suggested needs 
comment — I comment — that’s how ’tis — see? Go 
on.” 

“ All right, old man; your apology is satisfac- 
tory. I will proceed. 

“‘Vacation?’ repeated Miss Crompton, with 
rising inflection. 

Yes,’ said I, carelessly, ‘ I have from the lat- 
ter part of June to the middle of September. 
Telegraphy comes in handy to while away a few 
of the summer weeks that would otherwise, per- 
haps, drag a trifle. Then, too, the income de- 
rived from this source is a consideration with 
me.’ 

“ ‘ The time you mention, Mr. Bainbridge,’ she 
said, with growing interest, ‘ is the usual college 
vacation.’ 

“‘Yes,’ I said, smiling, ‘otherwise I should not 
be here.’ 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS. 


37 


“‘You are in college, then?’ pressed Miss 
Crompton, eagerly. 

“‘Yes,’ I admitted, carelessly, aiming to place 
little importance on the fact. Van Gilding must 
have been in agony as we approached nearer and 
nearer to a revelation that threatened him with 
dismay. I was correspondingly light hearted, 
feeling that this was my hour, and determined to 
enjoy it to the fullest extent. 

“ ‘ I should think you would wear your college 
colors so that one might know where you hail from,’ 
said Miss Crompton, cleverly aiming to discover 
my alma mater. 

“ ‘ No, it seems to me best that I should not — 
hardly in good taste, you know,’ was my some- 
what indifferent reply. 

“ ‘What an idea, Mr. Bainbridge,’ she exclaimed, 

‘ I cannot understand why you feel so.’ 

“ ‘ It is often difficult,’ I replied, ‘ to make one 
understand just how another feels on matters of 
sentiment.’ 

“ ‘ But we are not so dull, I believe, that we could 
not appreciate your position if you would explain 
your reasoning,’ returned Miss Crompton coax- 
ingly. ‘ You see I am curious, Mr. Bainbridge, 
and you interest me. You are so different from 
most men one meets at these summer resorts.’ 

“ My heart felt a little insecure, Goggins, I con- 
fess, and I speculated with suppressed agitation 
on the probable effect of the revelation that I saw 


38 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS. 


could not much longer be delayed. Answering 
her I said : ‘ I aim never to allow the curiosity of 
ladies to suffer on my account. My 'feeling then 
about the college colors is this ; I am at the hotel 
in quite a different capacity from the guests. I 
am earning my living, earning money to aid me in 
my next year’s college term. Should some very 
swell classmate of mine come to the Manhanset 
(and none but the rich boys could afford to come) 
he might find himself greatly perplexed and 
wretchedly annoyed at being classed with one in 
my position. He might think it too great a sacri- 
fice to associate with me, and yet he could not 
well furnish his friends with a satisfactory reason 
for coldly cutting a member of his own college 
class, simply because that member’s ancestors had 
not hoarded as much money as his own. I think, 
after this explanation, you will agree with me that 
my point is well taken.’ 

“ ‘ I fear j^ou are very imaginative, Mr. Bain- 
bridge,’ laughed Miss Crompton, ‘and altogether 
too sensitive.’ 

“‘Then you think such a condition of things 
could not reasonably be?’ I questioned, plying the 
oars with a good deal of vigor. 

“‘No,’ she replied,with much spirit,‘it could not 
happen with people of sense, and college boys are 
supposed to possess this trait.’ 

“ ‘ Suppositions do not always materialize, you 
know,’ I replied. 


. A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS. 


39 


“‘You of course have the advantage of me on 
this point, Mr. Bainbridge, since your knowledge 
of college men is much greater than mine. I am 
happy to say, though, that my acquaintance with 
them has not extended to one so exclusive and 
contemptible as you paint. If any such exists, I 
think his pleasure or annoyance would be of little 
consequence to me.’” 

“Ye gods, Bainbridge, I feel as if something 
were about to explode,” said Goggins. 

“ I felt about the same way at the time, old fel- 
low. You see I did not anticipate such decided 
expressions from Miss Crompton.” 

“ I’ll bet you didn’t, or you would have drawn 
the situation more mildly.” 

“ I would indeed, for I didn’t know to what des- 
peration Van Gilding w'ould be driven. He 
showed cooler nerve, though, than I could have 
expected, saying nothing, and seemingly, as far as 
1 could judge, paying no heed to our conversa- 
tion. 

“ ‘ Isn’t Mr. Bainbridge the most obdurate man 
you ever saw, auntie?’ said Miss Crompton. ‘I’ve 
talked all this time trying to persuade him by 
every art I could command to tell me the name of 
his college without asking in so many words.’ 

“ ‘ I am sure I do not mean to be obdurate, for I 
would like to tell you — I could have done so, but 
cannot now,’ I answered, hardly knowing what re- 
Oly to make. 


40 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS. ’ 


“ The ladies exchanged glances that made my 
cheeks burn. I saw at once how the situation 
must appear to them. I had claimed to be a col- 
lege man, and when put to the test would not 
name the institution to which I belonged.” 

“You were in an ugly situation indeed, Bain,” 
broke in Goggins. “ I think you would have 
been justified in sacrificing Van Gilding, since he 
had treated you from first to last so shabbily.” 

“No; I don’t agree with you, Goggins; I could 
not do so under the circumstances without em- 
barrassing Miss Crompton, and that I would not 
do.” 

“ I guess you are right, Bain. But how did you 
get out of the muddle ? ” 

“ I didn’t get out of it.” 

“ And you allowed the ladies to go away think- 
ing you an impostor ? ” 

“ I couldn’t explain further than I had, though 
Miss Crompton reminded me of my statement that 
I aimed never to allow the curiosity of ladies to 
suffer. At the boat landing we were met by many 
friends of the rescued party, who had become 
anxious because of their long absence. In the ex- 
citement and clamor of voices, thanks to me for 
my services were forgotten. I found a letter, 
however, for me in the morning on entering my 
office, from Mr. Crompton, apologizing for this 
neglect and explaining that his sister and daughter 
expected to see me at the hotel after landing. 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS. 


41 


He said that they felt deeply indebted to me for 
my kindness, and that this feeling was fully 
shared by him. ‘We leave here,’ he continued, 
‘ on the early morning train, or my family and 
myself would thank you personally.’ 

“ I was amazed, Goggins, and could not realize 
that this charming girl, with whom I had been so 
strangely thrown, had so suddenly disappeared.” 

“ And you have never seen her since ? ” 

“ No.” 

“ Nor heard of her?” 

“ No, not a word.” 

“ And that was nearly a year ago,” mused Gog- 
gins. “ Well, graduation will soon be over,” he 
continued, “ and then you locate in New York. 
Van Gilding lives in New York, Miss Crompton 
lives in New York, I go to New York — dramatic 
possibilities — eh, old fellow ? ” 


42 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS. 


III. 


AINBRIDGE, how are you? ” said Goggins, 



^ shaking his friend's hand warmly, as the 
latter rose from his desk to greet him. 

“ Goggins, as I’m alive, it is you ; and how well 
you look, my boy,” returned the other. 

“ Natural to me, you know, Bain — can’t help it.” 

“Yes, I remember, and I’m exceedingly glad to 
be reminded of it by your presence — seems an age 
since I saw you.” 

“ Thanks, old fellow ; I’m delighted to see you, 
too. It is four months now since we left old 
Yale.” 

“ Four months, yes ; and in them you doubtless 
have had a surfeit of pleasure.” 

“ Pleasure ! I should say so, dead loads of it ; 
and girls — well, if I haven’t had a circus — played 
right along to full houses.” 

“ Your usual luck, Goggins — always in demand 
with the ladies'.” 

“ My usual luck, plus A. B. Before I was only 
plain Goggins. Now I am Thomas Goggins, A. 


B. — see?” 


“Yes, I understand,” replied Bainbridge, apolo- 
getically. “ I had forgotten for the moment the 
added distinction.” 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS. 


43 


“ I’m surprised, Bainbridge, that one with your 
cool head could forget, for however short a time, 
a matter of such importance.” 

“ I can only account for it by my delight at see- 
ing you again after all these weeks. But tell me 
where you have been, and did you make any con- 
quests?” 

“Make any conquests?” exclaimed Goggins. 
“ Why, Bain, where is your logic ? Didn’t I say 
I had had loads of pleasure? And how is one to 
get pleasure at Saratoga and Richfield and Lake 
George and the Thousand Islands, I would like to 
know, without making conquests? Why, it’s the 
regular thing to do, Bain, at these places, and all 
other summer resorts, as to that matter. And 
you know it, old fellow, as well as I, with your 
experience at Shelter Island.” 

“ I only know it from the observant point ; and 
one does not get much pleasure out of watching 
the conquests of others.” 

“ Come, now, that won’t do. I remember too 
well your admiration for Miss Crompton. And 
that reminds me, Bain, what progress are you 
making in that quarter?” 

“None whatever; and besides, to admire is not 
to make a conquest, you know.” 

“ But it is the first element in the undertaking, 
all the same.” 

“ Granted, Goggins ; though unaccompanied 
by action it is of little practical account.” 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS. 


“ Action, however, is one of your strong charac- 
teristics.” 

“ A railroad engine is the embodiment of 
action, and yet it is a useless thing when off the 
track.” 

“And you, like the engine, are off the track. 
Not a bad figure, Bain,” laughed Goggins. “Well, 
the young lady has been out of the city, doubt- 
less ; but this cool weather will soon drive her 
from the country, and then ” 

“And then what?” 

“ And then look out, Van Gilding. By the way, 
that reminds me, have you seen him since coming 
to New York ? ” 

“ No ; I have not had the pleasure.” 

“ Slightly sarcastic yet, I see. Well, never 
mind ; he thinks too much of you to neglect you 
very long, old fellow.” 

“ And why do you think he will trouble himself 
to call upon me? ” 

“ Did I say call upon you? ” 

“ No; you did not use those very words.” 

“ No ; nor did I mean to do so. There are 
other ways, Bain, of making one’s self felt than 
by personally appearing before a man.” 

“ Yes, I understand that ; but as there is little in 
common between him and myself, I do not see the 
force of your reasoning.” 

“ There may be more in common than either of 
us can see at this time. The combinations of the 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS. 


45 


future, you know, old boy, are wonderfully 
strange. This, however, is all idle speculation. 
Let us get down to fact. Tell me what you have 
done, and what the outlook is.” 

“ The outlook is a little hazy so far. My plans 
did not materialize as I anticipated. You will re- 
member that I told you of a man who promised to 
back me with money in the venture?” 

“And he failed you at the critical point?” 

“ He pretended to know nothing of our agree- 
ment when I called on him for the money.” 

“ But how have you managed without his aid?” 

“ I was, of course, thrown entirely on my own 
resources, and as they consisted simply of the in- 
genuity I possessed and about cash enough to pay 
a week’s board, I could not feel very secure in a 
strange city.” 

“ A rather meager capital, I should say, with 
which to commence the publication of a high class 
weekly periodical in New York,” laughed Cog- 
gins. 

“ It wasn’t just what I could have wished ; but 
having made all my plans to start such an enter- 
prise, I would not give it up so long as I was not 
forced to do so.” 

“ And you have been here nearly six weeks?” 

“Yes; it will be six weeks on Thursday since 
my arrival.” 

“ Bain, would you mind doing me a favor?” 
said Coggins, seriously. 


46 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS. 


“ Certainly not, old fellow. On the contrary, I 
should be only too glad to be of service to you.” 

“ I’m here, you know, to try my hand, too, at 
making a living in the metropolis, and I may 
not find it a very easy problem to solve ; so, 
if you will just tell me how you have managed 
to extend over all this time your cash capital 
which was large enough to pay one week’s board 
only. I’ll be mightily obliged. You see, if I 
should happen to need the secret I would need it 
a good deal — it’s best always to be ready for 
emergencies.” 

“ Quite right, Goggins,” replied Bainbridge ; 
“ though I doubt if you could turn to practical 
account the information you seek. You shall have 
it, however. After finding myself deserted by my 
supposed backer, when nearly all of my own 
money had been spent in buying literary matter, 
and this desk and few chairs you see here, I was 
puzzled to know which way to turn. Two ques- 
tions pressed me for speedy solution, one to know 
how to raise the money to carry out my project, 
the other to discover some way to defray my liv- 
ing expenses. My board had to be paid in ad- 
vance. The week for which I had already settled 
was drawing uncomfortably close to an end. I 
would not telegraph my father for money, and 
I disliked very much to abandon, even temporarily, 
the venture on which I had set my heart. The 
probability, however, that I should soon be unable 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS. 


47 


to set my teeth on anything more substantial than 
air, decided me in favor of providing for imme- 
diate wants. This may seem strange to you, 
Goggins, but my prejudice against slinging my 
hammock to a lamp post at night was too great to 
be overcome — a trifle old fashioned, I know you 
will say, but there are now and again new things 
which we do not embrace with enthusiasm. ” 

“ Yes, that’s so, Bain. I know how it is myself. 
For instance, I always warm to a new girl, and 
freeze to a new formula in mathematics. New 
things do not always capture us, that’s a fact.” 

“ How well your experience enables you to 
appreciate the situation I was in,” returned Bain- 
bridge, dryly. 

“ Strange, isn’t it? But tell me how you drove 
away the wolf.” 

“ I sought refuge in the fort of employment.” 

“And gained admittance?” 

“ Yes.” 

“And just let the wolf howl himself hoarse out- 
side, I suppose. Capital idea, Bain, though a little 
rough on his wolfishness. But what passport did 
you present?” 

“ The only passport that is of much service to 
one in this world — skilled hands.” 

“ Oh, I see, your old business, telegraphy. But 
you are a college graduate now, Bain. I’m sur- 
prised at your going back to the employment of 
your boyhood,” 


48 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS. 


“ College graduates, Goggins, as you will find 
out, have no market value whatever. I could sell 
my services as a telegrapher; I could find no 
bidder for them as a college graduate. I placed 
them, therefore, at the best advantage.” 

“ One would judge from your talk that our four 
years at Yale have been wasted,” replied Goggins, 
less gayly, thinking, doubtless, that the outlook 
before him was not so sunny as he had expected. 

“ No, I do not intend to convey that idea. A 
college education is a good thing, and gives one a 
broader and better foundation on which to build 
a career. But the foundation of a house is not 
salable, while the completed structure possesses a 
value because it can be made useful. When we 
have builded something that men want on this 
college foundation of ours, Goggins, then we can 
dispose of it, and until we have done this we can- 
not expect New York to respond to our desire for 
progress.” 

“But tell me, old fellow,” inquired Goggins, 
“ how it is that you are still keeping up this office, 
if you are in the telegraph service, as you say ? ” 

“ I am working nights — my hours are from six 
o’clock until one in the morning. I usually sleep 
till ten o’clock ; dress, breakfast, and take a long 
walk, arriving here at twelve or one, as 
the case may be. All my afternoon, you see, is 
my own, and I devote it to the venture upon 
which I have staked my hopes.” 


IT IS VAN GILDING LHIVING/’ EXCLAIMED BAINHKIDGE. — SEE PAGE 52. 


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A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS. 


49 


“ A splendid arrangement, Bain ; and I hope 
you are making satisfactory progress with the 
publication.” 

“ Well, no, not satisfactory, though I am keep- 
ing the idea alive, and doing some work that looks 
toward a commencement. Just when the venture 
will be launched, however, I cannot even estimate 
at this time. You see I have a good deal of cor- 
respondence already,” continued Bainbridge, 
holding up a number of letters that he had been 
opening on Goggins’s arrival. 

“So I see; from authors, I suppose?” 

“ Yes, authors and artists ; and some of them 
express a willingness to contribute to the paper, 
waiting until I can pay them for their work.” 

“ They are taking chances, I should say, Bain, 
judging from the history of most publishing ven- 
tures. But come, old _fellow, let us run up to 
Central Park for an airing. It will do you good.” 

“ All right, Goggins ; I will do so. A little 
vacation will do me no harm.” 

An hour later Bainbridge and Goggins were 
strolling leisurely through the park, chatting 
lightly. They talked of college days, and lived 
over again many of the happiest scenes in which 
they had been actors. Classmates were discussed, 
their peculiarities canvassed with a smile, and 
their probable future discounted with a freedom 
characteristic of youth. And the park, too, so 
beautiful, with soft, green grass, through which 


50 


I TRAGEDY OF ERRORS. 


wound the hard, white drives, was not without its 
share of comment. 

Education is the mother of the appreciative 
faculty. The ignorant man could not see Cen- 
tral Park with the eyes through which these 
young men saw it. The broad, grassy plots 
would suggest to him, if he be a farmer, so many 
bushels of corn and potatoes ; the well shaped 
trees, tall and stately, skirting the many circuit- 
ous drives and walks, would represent a tier of 
cord wood of such and such dimensions, or a cer- 
tain number of feet of lumber, worth say twenty 
to thirty dollars a thousand. The graceful 
masonry, the artificial lakes, bordered by curves 
of most artistic fancy ; the Mall, shaded on either 
side by great trees, with overhanging branches, 
and generously dotted on right and left with 
statues of the classic masters of music and song — 
what are all these to him ? What does he know 
of Beethoven, of Scott, of Burns and Shakespeare ? 
It were as well for him that these statues repre- 
sented untutored savages. The modeler’s work 
would interest him none the less, and beyond the 
chiseling he could not see. 

How different this scene to Bainbridge and his 
companion ! On every hand they saw the gener- 
ous gift of a generous people — a playground for 
all the city’s multitudes. Every beauty of nature 
or of art appealed to their sensitive fancy. The 
statues of the great masters meant more to them 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS. 


51 


than cold, bronze figures. Images only to the 
dull, untutored mind, they warmed the fancy of 
culture, and carried it back to roam hand in hand 
with these immortal masters over the fields of 
romance and the stirring scenes of war. 

But the beauty of the inanimate did not alone 
appeal to these two minds, as they moved leisurely 
along with observant eyes. Too many sweet 
faced young girls and well dressed men thronged 
the walks and flitted along the drives, drawn by 
costly chargers, gaudily mounted with silver and 
gold, to allow them to think much on the past. 

I suppose in a year or two, Bain, we shall see 
you in a gaudy turnout like these, when your 
paper commences to boom,” remarked Goggins, 
good naturedly. 

“ That is down right sarcasm, old man,” replied 
Bainbridge, receiving the remark in the spirit in 
which it was uttered. “ I’m afraid you have no 
faith in my venture.” 

“Well, no ; not much in the venture, but a great 
deal in you. To come to this great city, however, 
with a view to starting out in the publishing busi- 
ness without money, aiming, of course, to com- 
pete with old established firms who have millions 
of dollars behind them, and years of experience to 
guide them, seems to me to be utterly quixotic.” 

“ The same old story, Goggins — ^just what every 
one tells me. Enterprise would die, my boy, if it 
did not bound over these confining walls of con- 


52 


A l^RAGEDV OF ERRORS. 


servatism and strike out into new fields. There 
is something interesting and inspiring and dra- 
matic about piloting one’s own craft over the 
dangerous reefs of bankruptcy. I would rather 
fail a dozen times in my undertaking and be all 
the time a man, than become the cogwheel to 
some other man’s ponderous machine.” 

‘‘ I admire your courage, Bain ; I have faith in 
you, and — ah, look at that showy rig, a tally-ho, I 
believe they call it.” 

“Yes; I think — why, Goggins, it’s Van Gilding 
driving,” exclaimed Bainbridge, the color fading 
suddenly from his cheeks. 

“As I’m alive, so it is, Bain; and a jolly party 
he has with him. The lady on the seat beside 
him ” 

“ Miss Crompton,” returned Bainbridge in a 
lower tone, his eyes falling to the ground. 

“ Miss Crompton ! ” repeated Goggins, with sur- 
prise. “Well, she is all you painted her, old fel- 
low. I think from now Van Gilding will have 
another rival in me,” he added, observing the 
change in his friend, and with delicacy assuming 
not to notice it. “ It is as I expected,” said he to 
himself, “ Bainbridge still wears the imprint of her 
face on his heart.” 

“ I think it was Miss Crompton,” remarked 
Bainbridge, after a pause, in which he seemed to 
be arguing to himself the question whether it was 
actually she. 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS. 


53 


“ Why didn’t you recognize her, Bain ? ” asked 
Goggins. 

“ It has been something over a year since the 
last night I saw Miss Crompton, and I only caught 
a hasty glance of the one I took to be her.” 

“ That glance satisfied you, however, that it was 
she?” 

“ That was my first impression,” admitted Bain- 
bridge, reluctantly, aiming evidently to convince 
himself that he was mistaken — that he had not 
seen Miss Crompton sitting beside Van Gilding in 
the coveted seat on the tally-ho. 


54 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS, 


IV. 



ERE so soon, Van? I thought I would be 


the first to arrive, don’t you know?” said 


a slight, pale young man — Stuyvesant Bigs by 
name — as he entered the box nearest the stage at 
the Bijou Theater. 

“Well, it struck me it would be hardly compli- 
mentary to the girls, under the circumstances, to 
drop in after the play is half over,” replied Van 
Gilding. 

“ That is a point that didn’t enter my head, and 
I don’t see why it didn’t, do you. Van?” 

“ These matters do not present themselves the 
same to every one.” 

“ Quite so ; I’ve heard my governor make the 
same remark. I ought to have thought of it my- 
self,” laughed Bigs, effeminately, adjusting his 
monocle, with which he surveyed the audience. 
“ But I say,” he continued, with the pleased look 
of one who had hit on a clever idea, “ Milkston 
evidently didn’t think of it, either.” 

“ I’m surprised at his absence, as he worships 
the ballet, I am told,” returned Van Gilding. 

“Milkston? I should think so. Betw'een you 
and me, he was out four nights last week with the 
girls — wine suppers, you know.” 


A TRACED y OF ERRORS. 


55 


“Ah, there goes the curtain,” exclaimed Van 
Gilding, fixing his eyes on the stage. 

“Yes, there goes the curtain,” echoed Bigs, 
bringing his eye glass into use. “ It starts deuced 
slow, though.” 

“Why, I didn’t notice that it went up more 
slowly than other curtains.” 

“ The play, I mean, ha ha, pretty good — but the 
play, don’t you know — it isn’t much good in this 
scene.” 

“Oh, I understand you now. No, it doesn’t 
show up very attractively at present, for a fact.” 

“ But you will like it — best thing on the boards ; 
and the ballet ” 

“ Great, is it? ” 

“ I should think so — the most stunning girls, 
and the way they dance ! ” 

“ And flirt ? ” 

“ Flirt, ha ha ! That’s pretty good ; just ask 
Milkston what he thinks about it — ah, here he 
comes now, verifies the old story, don’t you 
know ? ” 

“ Milkston, how fine you look — as fresh as a 
newly blown rose,” said Van Gilding, greeting 
his friend politely. 

“ Thank you, but I owe it to you in part, I think,” 
returned Milkston, smiling good naturedly. 

“ How do you figure that, old man? ” 

“ Why, the ride on your tally-ho this afternoon, 
and the girls.” 


56 


A TRACED V OF ERRORS. 


“A stunning combination, wasn’t it? Braced 
me up wonderfully,” remarked Bigs, whose ap- 
pearance did not suggest that he had improved 
very much from the ride, unless, indeed, he was 
in a most feeble condition before taking it. 

“ I knew you would like Miss Metcalf,” said Van 
Gilding. 

“ Like her immensely,” returned Milkston. 

“ She talks so well, too.” 

“Yes, talks well, and says clever things.” 

“ Deuced clever, that’s so ; but she isn’t to be 
mentioned in the same week with Miss Crompton,” 
remarked Stuyvesant Bigs, flippantly. 

“ Oh, of course not, but she is practically out of 
the race, I assume,” returned Milkston, with a 
suggestive wink toward Van Gilding. 

“ Out of the race, well, that’s pretty good, ha 
ha, and I didn’t know it before. Let me con- 
gratulate you. Van ; she is just a stunning girl.” 

“ But I am not to be congratulated yet,” replied 
Van Gilding, with a trace of embarrassment. 

“Well, it is all right. Van. No excuses neces- 
sary. As for myself. Miss Metcalf will do me for 
a while,” said Milkston. 

“ I liked her eyes, rather an odd shade of blue, 
don’t you know?” remarked Bigs. 

“Yes, not so expressive as some, though.” 

“ Lacked animation, that’s what I thought. 
Lately came here from Chicago, I think you said, 
Van ?” 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS. 


57 


“ Yes, her family moved here last winter.” 

“ Live in good style, I suppose ? ” asked Milks- 
ton. 

“ In palatial style — very wealthy, I understand.” 

“ Very wealthy, well, that’s pretty good, ha ha! 
We are in luck, Milkston.” 

“ The money question does not interest me so 
much,” returned Milkston. 

“ Oh, of course not, ha ha. I forgot, Milkston, 
a man of your fortune,” apologized the impecuni- 
ous Bigs, growing very red. 

Van Gilding, though not perceptively affected 
by Milkston’s careless remark, felt nevertheless 
uncomfortable, since the Cromptons were people 
of large moneyed interests, so reputed. He was 
far from knowing the value of money, though the 
wealth of the Van Gildings in comparison to that 
of the Milkstons was most insignificant. J. Nor- 
man Van Gilding, however, spent the hoarded 
savings of his ancestors with quite as free a hand 
as his new friend Milkston. The tastes of each 
were alike extravagant, and the style of dress 
affected by the one was no less expensive 
than that of the other. To keep abreast with 
Milkston, to possess as many gaudy trappings and 
entertain as lavishly, threatened peril to Van 
Gilding’s fortune. And as his pride would not 
allow him to be outdone by a Milkston, he had 
looked of late upon a union with Miss Crompton as 
a desirable solution of the somewhat embarrassing 


58 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS. 


situation in which he found himself. It was the 
consciousness of this fact that caused Milkston’s 
remark to nettle him. But skillfully turning the 
conversation to avoid an undesirable point, he 
said : 

“You haven’t told me what you think of my 
new tally-ho, Milkston.” 

“ I think it is the finest I have ever seen. It is 
the swellest thing of the kind in the city,” replied 
Milkston. 

“ Must have cost a lot of money,” remarked 
Bigs, whose straitened circumstances suggested 
the thought. 

“ Yes, a great deal ; but the pleasure itVill give 
me is worth the price,” answered Van Gilding, 
seeming not to feel called upon to name the sum. 
“ Ah, here is something worth seeing now,” he con- 
tinued, his eyes falling on a bevy of girls costumed 
largely in various shades of paint. 

“ Stunning, by Jove,” exclaimed Stuyvesant Bigs, 
edging closer to the front of the box. 

“ How is this. Van, for the ballet ?” asked Milks- 
ton, beaming at a particular girl with whom he 
was exchanging glances. 

“ Great, I think — you have seen it before, 
Milkston ?” 

“Yes, half a dozen times — advantage I had, you 
see, by comdng into the city first.” 

“ It looks that way surely, but perhaps under 
your guidance I will make up lost time.” 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS. 


59 


“ Let me alone for rushing you, old man — you 
see I’ve done up the town a good many times while 
you were in college.” 

“ Done up the town, ha ha, that’s pretty good — 
decorated it in tints, Milkston has, from one end 
to the other, don’t you know ? ” said Bigs. 

“ But I had a good assistant to help me do it,” 
laughed Milkston. 

Bigs smiled proudly, elated by this compliment. 

“Yes, Bigs has told me something of the affairs 
you and he have gone through together,” replied 
Van Gilding, watching the performance with 
growing interest. “ The one in the middle now, 
you say, Milkston, is one of our girls,” he con- 
tinued, studying her critically. 

“ Yes, the one by the villain — see, just turning 
round now — on his left.” 

“ I see — pretty face, and what eyes ! ” 

“ I should say so, and jolly.” 

“ She looks it, surely, and how well she sings ! ” 
Stunning, isn’t she?” said Bigs, pressing Van 
Gilding’s arm nervously. 

“ The others are hardly as pretty,” remarked the 
latter, not heeding the question put to him. 

“ The other two of our party, you mean?” asked 
Milkston. 

“Yes. The one leading the figure on the left — 
there, just coming this way — isn’t bad.” 

“ I should say not — beats them all in my eyes.” 

“ A little over dressed — not so taking a costume 


6o 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS. 


as some of them affect, don’t you know?” re- 
marked Bigs. 

“ I don’t agree with you — more style in it, even 
if it is objectionable on the ground you mention,” 
returned Milkston. 

“ Well, perhaps that’s so ; you are right, I think, 
and besides you are so much better judge,” re- 
plied Bigs, who was but the echo of his rich 
friend. 

“Well, as a party it would be difficult to beat 
them,” said Van Gilding, enjoying the dizzy scene 
before him. 

“ You mean the three that we are to take out 
to supper?” queried Milkston. 

“Yes, certainly, they are the best of the com- 
pany, and we are indebted to you, old man, for 
arranging this little affair for us.” 

“ Oh, don’t mention it. I’m glad to have you 
both in the party.” 

“ And we are glad to be in it,” said Bigs enthu- 
siastically, answering for himself and Van Gilding. 

“ Milkston has no doubt of that, I am sure,” re- 
plied the latter. “But where do we go?” 

“ You mean to supper?” 

“ Yes.” 

“Tosti’s, probably, unless you have some other 
place in view.” 

“Tosti’s — I don’t know the place — sufficiently 
obscure, I suppose?” said Van Gilding, a trifle 
nervously. 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS. 


6i 


‘‘ Oh, yes, a good eating house ; all right, you 
know, perfectly respectable, and a favorite resort 
after the theaters.” 

“It might be just as well for me, I imagine, if it 
were not a favorite resort — if it were less patron- 
ized. You see I would not care to have it reach 
my friends that I was out on such and such a 
night to supper with these girls.” 

“ Oh, come now. Van, you lack nerve. I’m afraid, 
and besides there is no danger,” returned Milkston. 

“ No, I think I am not easily frightened, but I 
do not care to make needless trouble for myself. 
If a report of this affair should reach the Cromp- 
tons ” 

“ Oh, I see.” interrupted Milkston, “ but is one 
to deny himself all the pleasures of life just be- 
cause some girl might object?” 

“ And when there are so many girls, too ? ” added 
Stuyvesant Bigs. 

“ No, I do not intend to lose any pleasure, so 
don’t misunderstand me, Milkston,” replied Van 
Gilding. “ I appreciate your courtesy in making 
me one of this party, as I said before, and shall 
have a good time, I know. My point is simply 
that I do not want to expose myself needlessly, 
for I should not wish certain people to know all I 
do.” 

“ That is natural, I suppose, to one situated just 
as you are, but for myself I don’t care so long as 
I enjoy myself.” 


62 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS. 


“A man is liked all the better if he is thought 
to be a little rapid, don’t you know?” said Bigs. 

“ That is all right to talk, old man, but such a 
reputation wouldn’t help me very much just now,” 
replied Van Gilding. 

“Well, we will shield you from the public eye 
by having a private room for our supper,” said 
Milkston. 

“ But it makes me feel mean to put you to this 
trouble, and I your guest.” 

“ Don’t mention it. Van. I can imagine how 
the matter looks to you, but you will get used to 
it after a few evenings. Why, Bigs here was 
worse at first than you are, but nothing frightens 
him now.” 

“Nothing frightens me now! Well, I should 
think not — ha ha, that is pretty good,” replied the 
latter, smiling with pride. 

“ If Bigs has come out so well under your guid- 
ance, I think you will have little trouble with 
me,” replied Van Gilding. 

“ I’m sure you will be all right. Very well, 
then, we will go to Tosti’s as usual,” replied 
Milkston, settling himself comfortably in his 
chair, waiting for the performance to end. 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS. 


63 


V. 

HREE months have registered with the mystic 
^ past since the bright autumn afternoon when 
Bainbridge and his friend Goggins strolled leis- 
urely through Central Park. Then it was that he 
saw, for the first time in fifteen months, Miss 
Crompton — the same sweet girl, grown more beau- 
tiful in the intervening time. This momentary 
glimpse, revealing her seated beside Van Gilding 
on his tally-ho, and evidently happy in his pre- 
sence, was to Bainbridge much as a long draught 
of alkali water is to a thirsty, tongue parched 
traveler on a sandy desert. The first sensation, as 
his lips touch the clear liquid pool, is that of para- 
dise ; the second a suggestion of another place. So 
with Bainbridge, thrilled with delight at seeing 
her who had struck a chord in his sensitive nature 
never before touched by woman, and tortured a 
minute later on realizing that with her was Van 
Gilding — he of all others whom he most despised. 
And then he wondered as he had a thousand times 
before queried in moments of reverie, how Van 
Gilding had explained his strange and unwarrant- 
able conduct on that night at Shelter Island, when 
Bainbridge had rescued him and his party from 
the sinking boat. 


64 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS, 


“ I claimed,” said he to himself, walking along, 
with head bent low in thought, and for the time 
oblivious to Goggins’s presence, “ that I was in 
college, and then refused to name the institution 
to which I belonged. I remember too well the 
look exchanged between Miss Crompton and her 
aunt — a look that cut me, as it cuts me now — a 
look mingled with surprise and incredulity. An 
impostor in their eyes, I saw myself, and yet un- 
able to prove the truth of my assertion, unwilling 
as I was to expose her to embarrassment. Van 
Gilding was too sharp to miss the trail which I 
had unwittingly blazed for him, and that he fol- 
lowed it I have no doubt, hunting down my already 
questioned character, and exhibiting it to them 
illshapen, distorted with vice — an abject thing of 
contempt. Thus his revenge for each bent bow 
of mine, with which I had sent arrows sharply 
tipped into his self conceit. Thus his exculpation 
in the eyes of women, who catch quickly at plaus- 
ible theories, not often going beneath the surface 
if it be well varnished, ingeniously glossed over. 

“But what should I care? I know I am sin- 
cere, and not the thing he has painted me. And 
to know one’s self is true were better than if all 
the world thought so, and to himself he were a 
villain from whom he cannot separate, a shadow 
of himself, with distorted features of avarice and 
cruel cunning, haunting him ever, freezing his 
blood with terror. 




X, 



“ WE ARE SAILING ON DIFFERENT LAKES. SEPARATED liV 
GREAT GOLDEN REEFS.” — SEE PAGE 65. 


t 




A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS. 


65 


“ And what is she to me or I to her, that I 
should allow myself to be annoyed or pleased at 
any act or thought of hers — to be moved either 
the one way or the other, to allow my heart to 
quicken its action, as it did but a moment ago, by 
even so much as a single beat? There is no sense 
in it, no manliness in it, nothing but the weak 
sentiment of imagination. We are sailing on dif- 
ferent lakes, separated by great golden reefs 
through which I have discovered no channel lead- 
ing to the smooth waters upon which her craft 
floats dreamily. And since she could have no ob- 
ject in coming into these rough and treacherous 
waters in which my frail skiff moves perilously, I 
am, as I see myself, a fool to think further of 
reaching the snug harbor in which her boat drops 
anchor. And why should I ? The world is wide 
and well peopled. But of these things I’ll think 
no more — neither of her nor others — not until my 
enterprise develops strength to run itself, and 
gives me time for fancy. To that, then, all my 
energies shall go from this time on.” 

Ambition is only a desire, a purpose. It aims 
at results, without the power to move towards 
them. Energy is the main spring of character, 
but energy without purpose is often put to bad 
account, and seldom leads to great results, except 
by accident of circumstance. Together ambition 
and energy form a combination that moves things. 
These Bainbridge had, and with them determina- 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS. 


66 - 

tion — a characteristic of equal importance to one 
whose aims are high. To this trait in man the 
world owes more than to any other. Without it, 
invention, discovery, and civilization itself would 
have depended upon accident. The staying 
quality bridges disaster, parries, delays, circum- 
vents, renews the attack, and in the end van- 
quishes the enemy. In the path of a determined 
man there are few obstacles that he cannot over- 
come. Will power as a force in the world is in- 
finitely greater than is supposed, and when in- 
tensified, stimulated, heated, as was the case with 
Bainbridge, it is well nigh irresistible. 

“ Success in this world, Goggins, costs some- 
thing,” said Bainbridge, breaking the silence at 
last and speaking as one entering upon a danger- 
ous undertaking. “ Sentiment and fasting and 
prayer will not bring it. Save for an occasional 
accident now and again, it never comes to any 
one. He must go after it. I am going after it, 
prepared to follow the chase to the end. 

“ Few men are willing to pay the price, to make 
the sacrifice, to give up pleasure, home, friends, 
and society, to part with the sure thing they have, 
with the money received from hoarding ancestors, 
to work fifteen hours a day, concentrating every 
thought and every energy upon one subject.” 

“ Is it worth the price, Bain, to make such a 
sacrifice?” returned Goggins, taking on something 
of his friend’s serious mood. 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS. 




“That is a question I cannot answer.” 

“ And yet you have answered it for yourself ? ” 

“ Yes, for myself.” 

“ But doubting the true answer, I should think 
you would not hazard your own career ?” 

“ I only question the answer as applied to 
others — not to myself.” 

“ It seems to me that a good policy for one 
would be a good policy for another.” 

“ No, Goggins, you are wrong, as you will see 
when you think how people differ in tempera- 
ment, purpose and surroundings.” 

“ Yes, there is something in that, old man, but 
I would rather get a little out of life as I go along.” 

“ And your preferences, you see, simply confirm 
what I just said. No, people are not willing to 
pay the price, and perhaps they are right, but con- 
stituted as I am, and situated as I am, life would 
have few charms if I could not reasonably picture 
myself in circumstances more to my taste.” 

“ But suppose you fail in your undertaking, or 
die before success crowns your effort ?” 

“ Until either of those occurrences I should be 
happy in the assurance of victory.” 

“ Assurance, though, Bain, hardly seems the 
right word.” 

“ Call it faith, then ; imagination, anything. 
Whatever it is, it would be real to me — the sub- 
stance of things hoped for, the evidence of things 
not seen.” 


68 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS, 


“ You are a better biblical scholar than I 
thought,” laughed Goggins, breaking the serious- 
ness of the conversation. “ But you and I look 
at the thing from different standpoints. I know 
that what we get as we go along we are sure of.” 

“‘And what we wait for may never come,’ — 
yes, I know your familiar maxim and it is a good 
one, too,” said Bainbridge, quoting the last half of 
it. “ In fact I follow it myself — in my own way, 
though.” 

“ A peculiar way, it strikes me, when one has to 
give up so much,” remarked Goggins, satirically. 

“Yes, peculiar, perhaps, but the way, all the 
same, in which I can absorb the most out of life as 
it slips by.” 

“ You get your pleasures, I see, from imagina- 
tion, but mine come from a more tangible source. 
And after all, the success for which you are willing 
to sacrifice everything does not necessarily bring 
happiness. Envy and worry will be a part of your 
reward.” 

“ I’m quite ready to take my chances, though 
you are undoubtedly right about the envy. I see 
it every day in the men working beside me. Cap- 
italists are roundly abused by them and denounced 
as hard hearted monopolists. How they do roll 
and accentuate and agonize this word in its pro- 
nunciation — distorting it into a hideous .thing. 
The fact is, Goggins, most men want to get wealth 
and power by some magic process while spending 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS. 


69 


their income on pleasure. But it doesn’t come 
that way, and because it doesn’t they envy the man 
who has it, not considering the years of toil, the 
economy, the training and skill he has given in 
exchange. I find at least five hours a day outside 
of the telegraph service which I put to good ac- 
count. These men could do likewise if they would, 
but they will not. Success they want, but not at 
the expense of personal sacrifice.” 

Men who think and feel as Bainbridge felt — 
whose ideas are as sound as his were — seldom fail 
to produce results. The three months that have 
intervened since the foregoing conversation with 
Goggins, prove Bainbridge to be no exception to 
this rule. He still holds his position with the 
telegraph company, and works at night as before, 
devoting his afternoons to his business project. 
His progress has necessarily been slow, but that 
he should have progressed at all is the surprising 
fact. A hundred dollars from his wages had been 
saved, and hours and weeks of thought had re- 
sulted in a number of important changes in the 
proposed publication. He had made the acquaint- 
ance of many artists and engravers, had inter- 
viewed literary men and talked with business 
houses. He listened to all, and found each one 
overflowing with advice. Literary men and artists 
were especially enthusiastic over the idea, capital 
they all said, and with a few changes would make 
a hit. Here are some of the changes suggested : 


70 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS. 


Mr. Quill — “ Yes, yes ” (speaking with much 
deliberation), “ a splendid idea, Mr. Bainbridge, 
splendid, just what we have needed fora long time 
— nothing like it, you know — originality takes.” 

Bainbridge — “ I am glad it pleases you, Mr. 
Quill.” 

Quill — “ Pleases me much — yes, very much. 
Let me see, the size of the page is what t ” 

Bainbridge — “Nine and one half by twelve.” 

Quill — “ Exclusive of margin 1 ” 

Bainbridge — “ No, including margin.” 

Quill — “ Including margin ! Small, yes, too 
small, it strikes me ; not enough room for stories, 
you know. In fact, I would make the pages 
fully double the size.” 

Bainbridge — “ But see how much more it would 
cost — double the matter, double the composition, 
double the press work, and paper double in size.” 

Quill — “ Ah, but paper comes by weight. Never 
mind if it is double in size, so long as the weight is 
not increased it costs no more. And then, too, 
thin paper has just as much surface as thick.” 

Bainbridge — “Very true, but thin paper feels 
cheap — is too much like the sensational story 
papers. And even if the paper costs no more, the 
other expenses would be doubled.” 

Quill — “ No, not necessarily, as you could save on 
your illustrations — cut them down to half the 
number, and get them done by a cheaper process.” 

Bainbridge — “ The changes you suggest would 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS.. 


71 


make an entirely different publication from what 
I have planned.” 

Quill — “ But success is what you want, young 
man. Publishers do business to make money, 
not to satisfy some whim of their own. I tell you, 
if you want to make this thing go, you must pub- 
lish stories, and a lot of them, too.” 

Bainbridge — “ You feel convinced of it, I sup- 
pose?” 

Quill — “ Convinced ! I know it ” (warming to 
the subject, and aiming to make a market for his 
oft rejected manuscripts). “ Isn’t it my business 
to study the taste of the people, and knowing it, 
do you suppose I would weave myself into tales of 
romance if such work were not appreciated — es- 
pecially when I could take equally high rank in 
other branches of literature?” 

Bainbridge — “ Your reasoning is good, Mr. Quill. 
I will consider the points you make, in connection 
with your story as I read it.” 

Mr. Brush — “ I have been looking for an order 
from you, Mr. Bainbridge, to go ahead with the 
drawing we talked of last week.” 

Bainbridge — “ Not quite ready yet — want to be 
sure of the size, and so forth, before spending any 
money.” 

Brush — “Quite right, the fewer mistakes you 
make the better, but I thought you had settled 
on the size.” 


72 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS. 


Bainbridge — So I am, providing no change is 
made in the form of the paper/' 

Brush — “ Oh, I see ; contemplating making the 
pages smaller, as I urged — so much more artistic, 
you know.” 

Bainbridge — “ A man just went out who urged 
doubling the size of the pages.” 

Brush — “ Doubling them ! Why, I never heard 
of such an absurd idea. Who could he be, for 
gracious sake? A coal heaver. I’m bound.” 

Bainbridge — “ No, not a coal heaver; but Quill, 
the author of ‘ Beautiful Rain.’” 

Brush — “ The old ass — no more idea of art than 
a ground hog — ^just a hack — a literary hack, that’s 
what he is.” 

Bainbridge — “ He claims that his stories are in 
great demand — that they have been the making of 
several publications.” 

Brush — “ Rubbish — mere rubbish — never wrote 
anything of note but ‘Beautiful Rain,’ and there 
is a good deal of doubt about his having written 
that.” 

Bainbridge — “You think I had better hold to my 
original plan, then ? ” 

Brush — “ Yes ; except to make the pages a trifle 
smaller — the artistic effect is so much better, and 
everything depends upon art, you know, now.” 

Bainbridge — “ Quill thought I should pay less 
attention to art- -should reduce the number of il- 
lustrations one half.” 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS. 


73 


Brush — “ To make room for his alleged stories, 
I suppose — the old idiot.” 

Letter Carrier — “ ‘ Publisher of Breeze ’ — know 
anybody in this building who answers to that de- 
scription ?” 

Bainbridge — “ It must mean myself, I suppose.” 

Letter Carrier — “ I wish I had known it before — 
have hunted the whole building over from bottom 
to top. But what is this '‘Breeze' any way ?” 

Baifibridge — “ The name of a new publication I 
am going to bring out.” 

Letter Carrier — “ Oh, not out yet. Well, you had 
better change the name.” 

Bainbridge — “ Why so ?” 

Letter Carrier — '‘'Breeze!" (contemptuously). 
“ Who ever heard such a name applied to a 
paper?” 

Bainbridge — “ Well, suppose it never has been 
used before as the title to a publication, is that any 
argument against it ?” 

Letter Carrier — “ Why, it doesn’t mean anything. 
You better take my advice and waste no money 
on that name.” 

Mr. Letterer — “ Ah, glad to find you in — finished 
the heading a day earlier than I expected to — best 
thing I’ve ever done.” 

Bainbridge — “Yes, it is good — better than I ex- 
pected.” 


74 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS. 


Letterer — “ Pleases you, then ? I knew it would.” 

Bainbridge — “Yes, pleases me much.” 

Letterer — “Very catchy, and such a clever name 
for a paper — nothing like it, you know — new 
things take.” 

Mr. Boxwood — “ Sorry you didn’t let me get the 
heading designed for you. I know an artist who 
is very clever at this sort of thing.” 

Bainbridge — “ But I like this design.” 

Boxivood — “ Well, of course, if you like it, it is 
not my place to criticise it. But this ‘ B,’ for in- 
stance — all out of proportion — too fancy ; and the 
‘ z ’ isn’t just right. In fact, the style of letter 
isn’t suited to the paper.” 

Bainbridge — “ Am sorry I didn’t get a design of 
you ; but since this is accepted and paid for, I 
will have it engraved.” 

Boxwood — “ Very well, then, I will put it through 
for you ; but — ah, by the way, I want to offer a 
suggestion. You know you told me you had been 
figuring with a process house with the view to 
having your drawings reproduced by their 
method. Now don’t do it. You are a young man 
just starting for 3rourself, and cannot afford to ex- 
periment. Process engraving will ruin the pros- 
pects of your paper, now take my word for it.” 

Bainbridge — “ But it costs so much less ; and 
then, too, our best magazines use a great deal of 
it.” 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS. 


75 


Boxwood — “ They are all going to give it up, 
though — looks cheap, and their circulation has 
gone down, down, right dow’n, since they com- 
menced experimenting in it. No, sir ; it is only 
good for cheap work. I know what I am talking 
about." 

Bainbridge — “But the French publications, in 
an artistic sense the best in the world, use it al- 
most altogether." 

Boxwood — “ I don’t care if they do, it isn’t a suc- 
cess. I’ve been a wood engraver for thirty years, 
and I ought to know." 

Bainbi'idge — “ Since this process engraving is com- 
paratively a new thing, you couldn’t have watched 
it during all those thirty years. I am at a loss, 
therefore, to see wherein your judgment is supe- 
rior to that of younger men who speak well of it." 

Mr. Process — “ These figures I give you are es- 
pecially low — made so to encourage you and help 
you get started — not over one tenth the price you 
would have to pay for wood engraving, and you 
get a more perfect reproduction of your drawings." 

Bainbridge — “ Boxwood thinks wood engraving 
is the only thing that will make the paper go." 

Process — “ Boxwood be blowed ! He is an old 
fogy — ’way behind the times, and besides, he is 
talking for himself. Why, I am doing plates for 
the best people in the city. You bring your draw- 
ings to me and there will be no trouble about your 


76 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS, 


paper going — that is, no trouble barring the title 
— ‘ Breeze' Where in the world did you ever hit 
upon it ?” 

Bainbridge — “ You don’t like it, then ?” 

Process — “ Like it ? Why, you might as well call 
a paper ‘ Shovel' Do you think it would sell with 
such a name ?” 

Mr. Paper^naker — “ I should use a super-calen- 
dered paper if I were you, well finished. Illustra- 
tions print better on it, you know.” 

Bainbridge — “ Natural tint, or dead white, would 
you recommend?” 

Papermaker — “ Natural tint, by all means — all the 
best publications use it now — softer to the eye, you 
know.” 

Bainbridge — “ I agree with you, it is more 
pleasing.” 

Papermaker — “Yes, no doubt about it ; unlike the 
cheap papers, too. When do you expect to bring 
out the publication ?” 

Bainbridge — “ I cannot say definitely yet.” 

Papermaker — “ Have you arranged for your com- 
position and press work ? ” 

Bainbridge — “ No, not yet.” 

Papermaker — “ Well, be sure and use large type 
— I should say a bourgeois — nothing like large, 
clear print to recommend a paper.” 

Mr. Typo (with an eye to business) — “ Don’t think 


A TRACED Y OF ERRORS, 


77 


of using bourgeois type, Mr. Bainbridge — it is al- 
together too large. Why, you couldn’t get any 
matter in your paper.” 

Bainbridge — “ What type would you recom- 
mend ?” 

Typo — “ Nonpareil, I should say — not larger 
than minion, any way ; nonpareil, though, is pre- 
ferable. By the way, Mr. Bainbridge, what is your 
plan for circulating the paper? I intended to ask 
you this when you were here last. You see I am 
interested in your success, and don’t want you to 
make any mistakes.” 

Bainbridge — “ I appreciate your interest in my 
behalf, Mr. Typo — appreciate it very much. As to 
circulation, I expect to have it handled by the trade, 
that is, sold by newsdealers.” 

Typo — “ Don’t you do it, don’t you do it, young 
man. Take my advice and keep out of the clutches 
of the news companies — sharks, monopolists, 
grinders, that’s what they are — ruin you if you 
have anything to do with them.” 

Bainbridge — “ But how can I get the paper 
into the hands of newsdealers except by dealing 
with the news company?” 

Typo — “ Let the newsdealers go, and make a push 
for direct subscriptions.” 

Bainbridge — “ But isn’t that system dead, especi- 
ally on high priced papers ?” 

Typo — “ Dead ! of course it isn’t dead. The idea ! 
No doubt the news companies will make you think 


78 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS, 


so, if they can ; but don’t listen to them. And as 
to your price, if that is too high, why, make it 
lower — nothing like cheap prices for the public.” 

M?'. Newsvendor — “ We are overcrowded with 
publications now — no room for a new one — too 
many in same line. Wish half of them were dead, 
then we would have less bother. See how my 
stand is cluttered up with all this trash — never 
sells, and why men want to throw their money 
away publishing it is more than I know.” 

Mr. Aliddlenian (who works on a sure thing) — 
“Unique idea, Mr. Bainbridge — pushed suffici- 
ently, ought to sell — have big sale. We see popu- 
lar features in it.” 

Bainbridge — “ I’m glad you like it ; but now as 
to the price, is it too high ? ” 

Middleman — “Ten cents a copy? No, not too 
high. The fact is, a good thing brings its price. 
But let me give you a point ; don’t waste money 
and energy trying to get direct subscriptions. 
Five dollars a year, in advance, is a good deal of 
money — not noticed, you see, by the week — and 
besides, the thing is played out, gone by, dead.” 

“ From all this unsolicited advice and a thou- 
sand times as much more,” said Bainbridge, talk- 
ing the matter over with Goggins, “ I got nothing 
that helped me. Why, even the porter and coal 


A TRAGEDY OE ERRORS.. 


79 


heaver — imagine them telling one how to run a 
paper ! But they did it unblushingly. And their 
advice was quite as valuable as ninety nine per 
cent of all that flowed in upon me. I have al- 
ready learned one thing since entering on this 
business venture, which was not taught me in col- 
lege, and that is, that one must think for himself.” 


8o 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS. 


VI. 



O read that some one did so and so is to see 


the act and not the man. But an act, how- 
ever trivial in itself, when associated with individu- 
ality, becomes alive with interest. Personality, 
then, the trend of character, and the little inci- 
dents that bring these out and individualize the 
man, are quite as important to the proper devel- 
opment of a story as the more dramatic scenes 
that follow. 

In real life, no one can form the character of 
another. So, too, in fiction an author cannot in- 
dividualize his creation and give him character, 
however much he talks of him and dwells upon 
the scenes in which he acts. The individuality of 
the character must be learned by witnessing him 
on his daily rounds of toil or pleasure, by study- 
ing his temperament, his tendencies, his manner 
and his conversation. 

Man is many sided. He cannot be seen and 
understood in one act, nor a dozen. To know 
him well, he must be studied under different con- 
ditions, with different influences bearing upon 
him, with different motives appealing to him. To 
have seen Bainbridge simply as a telegrapher at 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS, 


8i 


Shelter Island, regarding those about him with a 
cynical frown, one would have formed a most im- 
perfect impression of his true character. So, too, 

' with Van Gilding. His sullen manner on the 
night of the accident to his boat would never have 
suggested the agreeable social side of his nature. 
His seeming admiration also for Miss Crompton, 
a young woman of culture and refinement, as he 
sat beside her on his tally-ho that afternoon in 
Central Park, would contradict the possibility of 
his association, a few hours later, with ballet girls. 

But these scenes only give three sides of Van 
Gilding ; and as it is desirable that we should know 
him better, I will here lift the curtain and show 
him in a different act — an act in which Major 
Artemas Poodel makes his appearance. 

“ Van Gilding is late,” remarked Milkston, 
looking at his watch and yawning lazily. 

“Yes, late as usual — habit of his,” replied Stuy- 
vesant Bigs, looking anxiously toward the door. 
“ Deuced hungry, don’t you know? ” 

“ Your appetite is never very languid. Bigs,” 
returned the other, with careless satire. 

“Languid appetite, ha ha; that’s pretty good, 
by Jove ! And it reminds me of what my gover- 
nor says. He says ” 

“Good evening, young men. Well, not been 
served yet?” said Major Poodel, advancing and 
interrupting young Bigs, much to the delight of 
Milkston. 


82 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS, 


No, not yet ; glad to have you join us,” re- 
turned the latter. 

“ Certainly, delighted to have you with us,” 
added Bigs, who never paid. 

“Well, I hadn’t thought of this,” replied the 
major, hesitating, not to seem too anxious. 

“You will enjoy the supper just as much, 
though, I dare say,” returned Milkston. 

“ Oh, no doubt about it ; in fact, the surprise will 
rather add to the pleasure than otherwise — serve 
as a sauce, you know.” 

“ It often has that effect, I have noticed.” 

“Yes, often ; and though it didn’t occur to me 
before, I think I am a trifle hungry — just strolled 
in to see if any acquaintance were here, not think- 
ing I would see you young men ; but I’m in luck 
— better luck than I anticipated.” 

“ It is very good of you, major, to say so.” 

“ Oh, not at all, not at all ; simple truth, that’s 
all. Ordered, I suppose ?” 

“ No, not yet.” 

“ Waiting for Van Gilding,” said Bigs. 

“ Van Gilding ! ” repeated Poodel, wrinkling his 
brow in thought. 

“Why, yes; J. Norman Van Gilding,” replied 
Bigs, surprised. 

“ Graduate of Yale,” suggested Milkston. 

“Graduate of Yale?” repeated Poodel, with ris- 
ing inflection. “ H’m, h’m ! ” 

“ And a deuced clever fellow,” added Bigs. 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS, 


83 


“ A clever fellow ! Why, I ought to know hint 
— of course I know him — Van Gilding?” looking 
much perplexed. 

“ I’m sure you know him — lives on Madison 
Avenue — father dead, only son, very old family,” 
said Milkston. 

“ Old family? Know him, I should think I do. 
Knew his father before him. The young man has 
been in college, you say ?” 

“ Yes, graduated last summer.” 

“ Ah, that accounts for it ; been away to college 
— out of society practically,” said Major Poodel, 
with evident relief. 

“ Half past eleven,” remarked Bigs, looking at 
his watch suggestively. 

“ Half past eleven, well — ah, here he comes now,” 
returned Milkston. “ Van, old fellow, why so 
late ? ” 

“ Sorry to have kept you waiting ; but the play 
did not end till five minutes ago,” replied Van 
Gilding. 

“You know Major Poodel, Van ?” said Milkston. 

“ I am very glad to meet you, major,” returned 
Van Gilding, extending his hand. 

“ And it is a pleasure to meet a Van Gilding — 
seen you, of course, many times. Knew your 
father well,” replied Poodel, profusely. 

“ I dare say ; and your face is familiar to me.” 

“ Familiar to everybody in society — a great beau, 
don’t you know ?” remarked Bigs. 


84 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS. 


> “ Well, I have been in my time,” returned the 
major proudly ; “but getting a little old now, you 
know.” 

“ In your time ? Ha, ha, that’s pretty good- 
beat us all now.” 

“ No ; I’m sort of giving way to you boys.” 

“ That won’t do, major ; we know you too well — 
biggest society man in the city today,” added 
Milkston. 

“ Of course he is — not a reception this year he 
hasn’t attended.” 

“ Well, force of habit, you know ; but then I 
cannot manage the giddy girls the way you can. 
The more sober matrons are more in my line 
now.” 

The more sober ones ! ’ Ha, ha, that’s pretty 
good — the most giddy in the party, you mean, 
major ! ” 

“ Not matrons, either — monopolized so much of 
Miss Metcalf’s time at the Wilkeses’ I hardly had a 
chance to speak to her,” said Milkston. 

“ And Van, here, might make a similar com- 
plaint, for I thought the major never would leave 
Miss Crompton,” added Bigs. 

“ By Jove, isn’t she a sweet girl, though ? — bright 
and full of animation,” replied Poodel, much 
elated at the review of himself. “ But — ah, I see 
Mr. Van Gilding is the young man who drives the 
swell tally-ho. I remember now — see you nearly 
every day in the park — charming girl. I’d buy a 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS. 85 

tally-ho or a Pullman palace coach if she would 
ride beside me.” 

“Let me fill your glass again-, major. You are 
drinking very little tonight; don’t you like the 
brand?” said Milkston, always a generous host. 

“ Oh, yes, like it — no better. Cannot drink as 
much as I used to when I was your age. Don’t 
feel as well for it, you know.” 

“ A supper would be a failure without wine, and 
no wine like champagne. Let me help you to some 
terrapin.” 

“ Well, yes ; thank you — no place like Delmon- 
ico’s for terrapin.” 

“ That’s so — your glass. Van — and you. Bigs — 
ah, all out — well, a fresh bottle will be here in a 
minute.” 

“ That’s pretty good. Ha, ha — want to see me 
paralyzed, don’t you ? ” 

“ Paralyzed ! Come,' Bigs, that won’t do. 
Don’t try to emulate the major’s modesty. Why, 
you are a full glass behind Van and myself. 
Here comes another bottle, now ; old fellow, your 
glass.” 

An hour later the quartette have adjourned to 
Major Poodel’s bachelor apartments in the “ Elm- 
wood.” Seated at a table with cards before them, 
and poker the game, they were now in position to 
round out the night to their taste. 

“Very good cards, major,” remarked Bigs. 

“Yes, imported — always prefer imported cards.” 


86 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS. 


“The spots do not seem just right on them, 
however,” said Van Gilding. 

“ No, I have notited that they are a little wild 
in your hands ; but it’s all in the draw, you know.” 

“You don’t draw as well. Van, at cards as at 
some other things — girls, for instance,” said Milk- 
ston, hauling in a large pot. 

“ That’s pretty good, ha ha. Van,” added Bigs. 

“ Never mind, old boy, we will bring you out all 
right at this game — ^takes some practice and 
plenty of nerve,” said Milkston. 

“ Bring you out as we did with the ballet girls,” 
added Bigs. “ Ha ha ! You should have seen 
him, major, the first night he met the Highkick 
girls.” 

“The Highkick girls at the Bijou?” asked 
Poodel, with surprised interest. 

“ Yes, stunning girls, aren’t they?” 

“ I should say so. Well, you boys are not get- 
ting left very much.” 

“ Getting left ? Ha ha, that’s pretty good, eh, 
old fellow ? ” gently tapping Van Gilding in the 
ribs. 

“ But tell me about it — any fun going on I 
don’t want to miss it. What was the trouble with 
Van Gilding?” 

“ Oh, there was no trouble with me, major,” 
answered Van Gilding, preferring to dismiss the 
matter in a few words rather than have it enlarged 
upon by his friends. “ I was simply anxious to 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS. 


87 


avoid being seen at supper with the girls, and 
these two fellows have tried to tease me ever 
since.” 

“ But the best of it is, major,” said Milkston, 
“ the way he has changed. I thought him rather 
a timid youth then, but now he leads Bigs and me 
a lively dance. Especially with the Highkick 
troupe — cut us completely out, you know.” 

“Well, that is clever,” laughed Poodel;“very 
clever, but a little ungenerous since you intro- 
duced him to them, I should think.” 

“ Major, don’t you believe all they say — by 
Jupiter, Milkston, have you got that pot? — and I 
held an ace flush,” said Van Gilding, throwing 
dov/n his hand with disgust. 

“Avery good hand, Van, very good; hardly 
able to cope with four jacks, though,” laughed the 
winner. 

“You are playing to great luck tonight, Milks- 
ton. I’ve got to work to get my money back.” 

“ Yes, this is my night — well, major, that is no 
mean haul — puts you away ahead of the game — 
and Van, you have lost again.” 

“ Yes, I’ve been laying low for this chance,” 
replied Poodel, with a triumphant smile. “ But 
how about the Highkick girls? Why can’t I join 
you some night for a bit of a lark and another 
supper ? ” 

“ Why, there is no reason whatever — well. Van, 
you better stop playing,” said Milkston. “ Bigs 


88 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS. 


has floored you now in great shape — landed the 
biggest game of the evening and nearly all your 
money.” 

“ I was lucky in dropping out,” chuckled the 
major. “Laid down three deuces, too.” 

“ I never had such mean luck before in my life,” 
said Van Gilding, with utter disgust. “ In two 
solid hours I’ve only taken in one pot. I’ll take 
your advice, Milkston, and get out before I am 
bankrupt.” 

“ Two hundred and eighty three dollars, by 
Jupiter ! That is a loss. Van, for the little time we 
have been playing,” remarked Milkston. 

“ And with only five dollar limit,” suggested 
Bigs. 

“Well, it’s gone; but I’ll tackle you all again 
tomorrow night, if agreeable to you, and make it 
up,” said Van Gilding, looking anything but 
happy. 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS, 


89 


VII. 

T T is now mid winter, and the gay season is at 
its height. Dancing parties, weddings, re- 
ceptions, the great balls, the opera, the theater, 
card parties, riding clubs, private musicales, 
amateur theatricals, and great fairs given in the 
interest of charity, all combine with the thousand 
and one other events of endless variety to stir the 
social heart of the metropolis. New York, during 
these weeks of gayety, is a merry world. Night 
outrivals day in brilliancy, and pleasure reigns 
supreme — a monarch of iron will, drawing his 
revenues from the life source of his worshiping 
subjects. The hardest worked of all the city’s 
multitudes are those who affect a life of leisure, 
and look upon honorable employment as an end- 
less round of monotonous drudgery. Forced into 
the ranks of pleasure to escape the mildew of 
ennui, they find themselves matched with com- 
petitors so clever, so artful, so enduring, that they 
must put forth every effort, strain every nerve, 
cultivate every possible improvement, groom, 
train, diet — anything and everything that will aid 
them in the mad social race for supremacy. 

A favorite most favored in this charmed circle 
of ultra fashionable folk was Miss Lela Crompton. 


QO 


A TRACED V OF ERRORS. 


No german, no reception, no theater party, no 
ride on club nights was a complete success with- 
out her, lending as she did, by her bright, ani- 
mated conversation, a dash and brilliancy to the 
whole company. 

I use the word success in the broader sense, ap- 
plying it to the spirit of the whole party, and not 
to a few of her own sex who secretly cherished 
sentiments of jealousy. The latter, however, were 
too well bred and too politic to show their feel- 
ings by sign or act. 

There is no surer way for a girl to make herself 
unpopular than to show jealousy, or speak coolly 
of a favorite in her set. Being a favorite, she is 
generally admired, and praise for her is the cor- 
rect and proper thing. It was this fact, with all 
vying with each other to speak the sweetest and 
most complimentary words of Miss Crompton, 
that gave her an enviable social prominence — a 
prominence that attracted the attention of shrewd 
matrons who aimed to excel as entertainers, and 
caused them to arrange dates, in not a few in- 
stances, especially to secure her presence. 

She had many admirers, and not a few worship- 
ers, so proclaimed by themselves. To all she 
talked clever nonsense, complimented them, 
teased them, or joked with them while in the 
dizzy whirl of Terpsichorean pleasures. But for 
Van Gilding her sweetest smiles and more serious 
and better thoughts were reserved. This was 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS. 


91 


plainly visible to every one, and yet her devotion 
to him in public was not so pronounced as to dis- 
courage others who paid her homage and courted 
her society. She was sufficiently clever to hide to 
a wonderful degree her own feelings, otherwise 
the envied place she held in society would have 
been transferred to another. 

It matters not how bright and attractive a 
young lady is, her popularity will soon cease if 
she has no eyes and thoughts for any save him on 
whom her heart is fixed. In other words, if she is 
very much in love with one man, and is unwise 
enough to let the fact become conspicuous, she 
speedily finds herself a drug in the social market. 
Man warms to the sentiment of a woman, but he 
warms to it only when the current is in touch 
with himself. To observe it in transit for another 
is to feel how weary, stale, flat and unprofitable 
a thing is love. 

Miss Crompton’s clever tact kept her from fall- 
ing into this error. Her hold upon the affections 
of others besides Van Gilding was sufficiently 
strong to gratify any young woman of spirit. 
Her aim, however, was not to reap a full harvest 
of idle adulation, but rather the purpose to make 
herself agreeable to all — to act well her part in the 
social farce in which she was starring. But Van 
Gilding, as the one most favored by her, was con- 
spicuously fortunate — not alone in possessing the 
warm regard of so sweet a girl, which in itself 


92 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS. 


was quite enough to make any man happy, but 
because of the prominence his nearness to her 
gave him. He, too, was in the inner circle of so- 
ciety’s most favored few — not there simply as the 
friend of Miss Crompton, but because of the an- 
tiquity of his family and his own social tenden- 
cies. Yet these credentials would never have 
given him the swing he now had but for her aid. 

Stuyvesant Bigs was admitted into the holy of 
holies on similar grounds, and was in every sense 
what is now known as a full fledged four hund- 
reder. He was not, however, assigned to the first 
division. 

A comparison with Bigs without a word in Van 
Gilding’s favor would be unjust to the latter, for he 
was not wanting in manly elements. Had he been 
so, it is safe to assume that Miss Crompton would 
have found little pleasure in his company. I use 
the word elements as applied to him to give a differ- 
ent shade of meaning from what the term charac- 
teristics would signify. To say that Van Gilding’s 
characteristics were manly would be to call him a 
manly man, and I should not like to hold myself re- 
sponsible for such an utterance. Manly elements he 
had by inheritance, and under favorable circum- 
stances they would have developed into manly 
characteristics. His childhood and early training, 
and the atmosphere in which he was reared, 
heavily laden with the decay of doting antiquity, 
all combined to spoil one really well endowed by 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS. 


93 


nature. His talents, notwithstanding this, were 
not ruined, only dwarfed. The pernicious effect 
was most potent in poisoning his disposition and 
giving him false ideas of his own superiority over 
others. Allowed to have his own way as a child, 
never yielding his will to his governess, he became 
selfish, arrogant and overbearing. These traits 
grew with him year by year, and to them was 
added extravagance, which is always especially 
deplorable in one who does not know how to deny 
himself. In his favor were his well developed 
physique, his rather handsome features, and pleas- 
ing address. 

One of the most brilliant receptions of the season 
was given by Mrs. Van Rensselaer Strivewell. 
New York receptions are much like those of other 
cities, only more so, and Mr. Strivewell’s was more 
so yet — the glory and envy alike of society. The 
chief features of events of this sort are crush, gush 
and glitter, the absence of any one of which would 
stamp the party a failure, and place the hostess in 
a most unenviable position. But Mrs. Strivewell 
never suffered this misfortune. The intensity and 
immensity of these features were all a proud and 
aspiring Woman could wish. Unlike other things, 
pleasure at receptions is derived from discomfort, 
and the greater the discomfort the greater the 
pleasure. It is a strange freak of fashion, but 
since fashion decrees thus, it is a fact. To use a 
theatrical figure, crush and dress are but the setting 


94 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS. 


to the stage, while gush is the play. On this then 
more than anything else rests the success or fail- 
ure of the assemblage. It is the only action, the 
only dramatic feature of the entertainment. One 
who is not up in it, who is not familiar with his 
lines, is very much out of place in such a gather- 
ing. The presence of a man like Major Poodel 
was well nigh indispensable. His acquaintance 
was extensive, and he knew the right thing to say 
to each one and just how to say it, properly em- 
phasizing the telling words. 

“ Originality in society,” remarked the major, 
stroking his long gray mustache, “ is a failure. It 
is never understood or appreciated. I know what 
I am talking about ; I’ve watched it for years. The 
man who tries to say new things and smart things 
is put down as stiff, uncongenial, a boor. Old 
jokes, old gush, if you please, is the thing that 
goes. No effort, you see, is required to under- 
stand it. It is plain to all. Nothing makes a 
woman so weary of a man as to have him say 
bright things that she doesn’t understand — that is, 
doesn’t catch the point of the joke. She feels com- 
pelled to laugh and compliment when she is ig- 
norant of the foible punctured — one of* her own, 
possibly. So, boys, my advice to you is never to 
try to be bright in new thoughts. The old ones, 
that you know are at a premium, are safe. A 
sure thing is always better than an experiment. 

“ To get on well in society,” continued this ex- 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS. 


95 


perienced observer, “is to do as others do — to 
laugh when they laugh, to condemn when they 
condemn, to praise when they praise, to seem to 
think as they think, to sneeze when they sneeze, 
and to follow the newest fads as they are followed 
by others. There are those, to be sure, who think 
and act independently and still maintain their 
position, which, however, is held only by virtue of 
the superior traits they possess. But they are most 
conspicuously in the minority, which is well, since 
too many independent spirits do not harmonize 
together. And without these social leaders the 
great body of society would be utterly helpless." 

Major Poodel was not a theorist. He was an 
experienced actor on the social stage — had been a 
leading man for nearly half a century. See him 
now shaking hands with Mrs. Strivewell, every 
muscle of his face, the well trained sparkle of his 
eyes, his whole attitude even, expressing untold 
delight at being one of her guests on such an oc- 
casion. “ No one can equal you in receptions," 
said he, casting his eyes over the crowded parlors. 
“ Largest and most brilliant I have seen this sea- 
son. And how charming you are looking." 

Mrs. Strivewell — “ How kind of you to say so, 
major — always so delightfully complimentary." 

Major Poodel — “ It would be unkind indeed to 
pass you by without expressing these thoughts. 
When one calls together by her genius and per- 
sonal charms an assemblage like this, the least a 


96 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS, 


man can do in return for her entertaining is to 
express courteously his appreciation of it, and of 
the clever woman who so generously gives it.” 

Mrs. Strivewell — “ If all men talked as you do, 
what a delightful world this would be — a sort of 
paradise on earth.” 

Major Poodel — “ Wouldn’t it? Don’t you think 
I’m about the nicest fellow going ?” 

Mrs. Strivewell — “ Yes, a charming man — ought 
to marry and make some little woman happy.” 

Major Poodel — “ If you were only a widow, 
now ! ” 

Mrs. Strivewell — “ But I’m not, and my husband 
is very much alive.” 

Major Poodel — “ Or had a sister, I was going to 
add.” 

Mrs. Strivewell — “ Sorry I have not. What a 
delightful brother-in-law you would be.” 

Major Poodel (to Miss Crompton) — “ Well, if any 
one has any doubt about your being the sweetest 
girl in the city, he should see you tonight.” 

Miss Crompton — “ What a clever man you are, 
major, and how charming your compliments.” 

Major Poodel — “ No one that had any eye at all 
for beauty could help praising you tonight.” 

Miss Crompton — “ Are you not afraid such pro- 
fuse compliments will turn my head ? ” 

Major Poodel — “ No, not a girl of your sense. 
Do you know ” (speaking softly, so that he could 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS. 


97 


not be overheard) “ I think Mrs. Strivewell did a 
clever thing in inviting you to receive with her.” 

Miss Crompton — “ It was very kind of her to pay 
me the compliment.” 

Major Poodel — “ Kind to herself — shrewd 
woman — knows the drawing cards of society.” 

Major Poodel (to Miss Metcalf) — “ Well, if any 
one doubts that the West produces the most 
charming girls, he should see you tonight.” 

Miss Metcalf — “ What a graceful compliment, 
major — I wish I could think you sincere.” 

Major Poodel — “ Sincere ! If you could only see 
yourself as I see you, you would have no doubt 
about it ; and how becoming that dress is — not 
another here like it.” 

Miss Metcalf — “You certainly could not have 
been less complimentary to Miss Crompton. She 
is lovely tonight — a perfect dream.” 

Major Poodel — “Yes, very sweet, but then one 
star differeth from another in glory. I know the 
style that suits me, and if I were only a younger 
man, these boys wouldn’t be with you so much.” 

Major Poodel — “ Mrs. Latrobe, I am delighted to 
see you h®re — looking more charming than ever — 
upon my word, you utterly eclipse the girls.” 

Mrs. Latrobe — “ So kind, major, to greet me 
with these compliments after seeing so many of 
your friends before reaching me.” 


98 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS, 


Major Poodel — “ Only a just tribute to a beauti- 
ful woman.” 

Mrs. Latrobe — And no flattery, my dear 
major ?” 

Major Poodel — “ Flattery, no. My vocabulary 
isn’t large enough to flatter you. It taxes a man’s 
ingenuity to do so clever a woman justice.” 

* sH sH ^ 

Milkston (talking to Miss Metcalf) — “ I wish the 
crowd would thin out so that we could have a 
dance.” 

Miss Metcalf — “So do I ; what a crush, and how 
warm ! ” 

Milkston — “ Yes, a great crush and very warm — 
heightens your color, though.” 

Miss Metcalf — “ That quite repays me, then.” 

Milkston — “ Color is becoming to you, though 
your beauty does not depend upon it, as with 
many girls.” 

Miss Metcalf — “ How charmingly you do flatter 
me, Mr. Milkston.” 

Milkston — “Flatter is not the right word. To 
do you justice, I fear, is beyond my powers of ex- 
pression.” 

Miss Metcalf — “ Oh, oh ! you men would make 
one think she was the only woman in the world.” 

Milkston — “ But all others are as nothing to him 
who sees only one.” 

Miss Metcalf — “ I really believe you are getting 
to be quite as great a flatterer as Major Poodel.” 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS. 


99 


Milkston — “ Well, I like that. So you think I am 
no more sincere than he ? See him now talking 
to Miss Lawton. Do I agonize and gush like 
that ?" 

Miss Metcalf — “Personal comparisons, I know, 
are often displeasing. But the thought was sug- 
gested to me by the effusive compliments paid me 
by the major only a few moments ago.” 

Afilkston — “ So he came to you first, and with 
his meaningless flattery dulled the edge of my 
genuine compliments. But speaking of the major 
and seeing him talking with Miss Lawton reminds 
me of something I heard of him a few days ago. It 
seems that when he was quite a young man he was 
very attentive to a Miss Bradbury. After a year’s 
intimacy, in which he seemed to get no nearer to 
the marrying point, she dropped him, and in a few 
months became the wife of a Mr. Littlewood. 
Eighteen years later the daughter of this couple 
was courted by the major quite as assiduously as 
her mother had been before her. It looked now 
as if he were really destined to become the hus- 
band of the daughter of his boyhood flame. Society 
had it so, and gossips lent strength to the proba- 
bility. But again he failed to become a benedict. 
Miss Littlewood, after a time, became Mrs. Law- 
ton, and now Miss Lawton is before us, and, as 
you can see for yourself, is being warmly courted 
by the major.” 

Miss Metcalf (laughing convulsively) — “The 


100 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS. 


funniest story I ever heard, but I cannot believe it 
— just see how straight and well preserved the 
major is. Why, your story would make him out 
ninety at least — a sort of antique family relic 
handed down from generation to generation.” 

Milkston (himself laughing) — “Yes, does sound 
like the invention of a novelist, but I assure you 
it is true, as I have the major’s own word for it.” 

Miss Metcalf — “ It was not he who told you the 
story ?” 

Milkston — “ No, not he, though I charged him 
with it, and he verified it, laughing with such 
genuine enjoyment as one rarely witnesses.” 

Miss Metcalf — “ But how old it makes him ! ” 

Milkston — “No, not necessarily. Fifty five or 
sixty years would give ample time — plenty of 
older men in the front rank of society now.” 

Van Gilding was faultlessly dressed on this oc- 
casion, and in all respects was at his best. Ap- 
proaching Miss Crompton with graceful ease, he 
said, after a few commonplace remarks : “You 
never looked so well as you do tonight ;” then 
adding, softly, “ you are singularly beautiful.” 

Her heart responded to this touch of sentiment, 
sending a glow of happiness to her face that 
warmed him and kindled anew his hopes. 

“ I am so glad I came, then,” she replied, quietly. 
“ This compliment from you quite repays me for 
the effort, and, besides, I am not at all fatigued.” 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS. 


lOI 


“ I am delighted to hear you say so, for I have 
been anxious ever since you decided to come, 
fearing the excitement and strain of standing so 
long would overtax your strength ; this is the first 
time you have been out, you know, since your ill- 
ness.” 

“Yes, I learned your solicitude from your note 
— it was so good of you — and it proved a tonic to 
me, I think.” 

“ If I really thought my notes were of such 
benefit I would gladly devote my life to you 
through pen and paper.” 

“ But I fear,” replied Miss Crompton, dropping 
her eyes with a suggestion of sadness, “ you would 
soon tire of so dull a life, when you would have a 
gay and happy one by mingling with the world.” 

“ No, that would not be happiness to me,” he 
said, slowly, as if measuring each word, “ but the 
thought that any act of mine would make your 
life more sunny would give me more pleasure 
than the society of other ladies. But we must not 
talk further upon this subject, else I fear we shall 
attract attention, for you are now so serious. I 
see your father, and I will chat with him for a 
moment, and then drift around for a time, coming ' 
to you later, when the crush is less.” 

After a brief conversation with Mr. Crompton, 
rather formal in character. Van Gilding hurried to 
Mrs. Woodman, the aunt of Miss Crompton. 
When Mr. Crompton’s wife died Mrs. Woodman 


102 


A TRAGED Y OF ERRORS. 


came to her brother and did all that a loving sis- 
ter could do to make good his crushing loss. She 
presided over his household and proved a mother 
to his daughter. These were her present relations 
with the Crompton family. 

Her friendship, then, was an important factor in 
Van Gilding’s effort to gain the sunny side of Mr. 
Crompton. If she could be induced to co-operate 
with the young lady, a combination would be 
formed that the hard headed father could not well 
resist. 

“ Have you noticed how beautiful Miss Cromp- 
ton is tonight?” said Van Gilding, opening the 
conversation with Mrs. Woodman. 

“Yes, she is lovely, and I am proud to see the 
attention she is receiving from every one.” 

That she should receive attention from others 
was hardly pleasing to Van Gilding ; however, 
policy was his line of action. 

“ Yes,” he replied, assuming to be rather glad 
than otherwise. “ I have noticed it with pleasure, 
and I never saw her look so sweet ; every one has 
remarked how charming she is.” 

“ Her heightened color gives her unusual brilli- 
ancy, but I hope she will not get tired out — so 
warm, and such a jam.” 

“ I was just talking with her about it, fearing 
the intense heat might be too much for her.” 

“ You are very kind ; she will appreciate your 
solicitude, I am sure.” 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS. 


103 


“ If Mr. Crompton would only look upon the 
matter in the same way,” replied Van Gilding, 
aiming to discover Mrs. Woodman’s attitude to- 
ward him. 

“ He thinks, you know, that you should be in 
business,” she replied evasively. 

“ Business is such a drudgery, and besides I 
have no taste for it.” 

“ Mr. Crompton is a very active man himself — 
is fairly devoted to business, and cannot look with 
allowance upon the unemployed.” 

“ But what is the object of going into business 
when there is no necessity for doing so?” 

“Would you like to know the answer he would 
give to your question ? ” 

“ Certainly I would.” 

“ He would say that few young men affecting a 
life of leisure and pleasure ever make a desirable 
record.” 

“ And do you hold to that opinion ? ” 

“Why do you ask, and what does my opinion 
matter one way or the other?” replied Mrs. 
Woodman, anxious to maintain a neutral ground. 

“ I asked, wishing to know whether I could rely 
upon your friendship or not.” 

“Why, Mr. Van Gilding, I should think you 
would know that I am a friend of yours.” 

“ Yes, I believe you are, in a way ; but whether 
I can rely upon your co-operation is the problem 
I am anxious to have solved.” 


104 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS. 


“ I am certainly not hostile to your purpose. I 
could not be so without injury to the feelings of 
my niece, and neither could I argue in favor of 
the engagement without siding against my 
brother’s views, and even you cannot question the 
genuineness of his motives. His love for Lela is 
almost devotion. You can easily understand, 
therefore, the solicitude he feels in this matter.” 

“Yes, I can understand,” said Van Gilding, 
after a pause, “ but he does not understand me. 
I can see no way out.” 

“ Will you allow me to suggest one ?” said Mrs. 
Woodman, anxious to see the matter of the en- 
gagement decided one way or the other. 

“Yes, certainly.” 

“ My advice, then, is to get up early tomorrow 
morning and try and secure a situation in some 
business house. I doubt if you can hope for my 
brother’s consent to your engagement with Lela 
should you fail to make a move in this direction.” 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS. 


los 


VIII. 



O the situation is not improving, Van ?” 


said Milkston, sitting at a table with his 
friend in the Hoffman Cafe. 

“ No,” replied Van Gilding, slowly, “ it is not 
improving; on the contrary, it is much worse.” 

“Worse! You surprise me, old fellow; and 
Miss Crompton seemed to enjoy your presence so 
much last night.” 

“ Yes, I believe she did, but the trouble is with 
her father.” 

“ So he has not yielded yet ? — wants to see you 
bent over a desk, I suppose, wearing your life 
out.” 

“Yes, making a drudge of myself, and all to 
please a whim of his.” 

“ How absurd for the old idiot to expect any- 
thing of the sort of one in your position — just like 
all the rest of the old fogies — no appreciation of a 
modern gentleman.” 

“That’s the way it strikes me,” returned Van 
Gilding, draining his glass, and warming to the 
discussion. “ I don’t see why I should yield to his 
will, any way ” 

“ And give up all the pleasures of life,” sug- 
gested Milkston. 


io6 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS. 


Yes, and give up all the pleasures of life.” 

“ He must be a determined old dog, or he would 
let Miss Crompton do as she wants to.” 

“ So I think myself. He is simply stubborn.” 

“ What is to be done — give up the girl, or yield 
to her father ?” 

“ That is the question that agitates the court 
just now.” 

“Miss Crompton is a prize,” suggested Milkston, 
lighting a fresh cigarette. “ I never saw her look 
so charming as last night.” 

Van Gilding made no reply, but rested his head 
on his hand, in debate with himself. 

“ I have an idea. Van,” said Milkston, breaking 
the silence. 

“ Have you, and one that solves the problem ?” 

“ I think so ; strikes me as a clever scheme.” 

“Let me judge of its merits,” returned Van 
.Gilding, anxiously. 

“ This is the plan. Go down town and get desk 
room with some one or fit up an office yourself, 
whichever you prefer.” 

“ But what business could I conduct? And, be- 
sides, I don’t want to go into business — don’t want 
to spend my life at anything of the sort just to 
please Crompton, while you and every one else are 
having a glorious time up town here.” 

“ Oh, but I don’t mean that you should do a lot 
of drudgery. There are always several ways to 
get round a point. When a man has an office it 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS. 


107 


looks like business, you know, whether he is in it 
much of the time or not.” 

“ That is an idea, Milkston — a clever thought,” 
replied Van Gilding, taking kindly to the sugges- 
tion. “ But Crompton is too keen a man to be 
easily deceived,” he added thoughtfully. 

“ That would necessitate your having some 
business, then — I see the objection.” 

“ Yes, there is the rub, for I certainly wouldn’t 
start a business.” 

“ Well, suppose you get into some business 
house ?” 

“ Should I do that, I would have to get down 
early mornings and work like an ordinary clerk, 
and this I wouldn’t do for anybody.” 

“ Not even for Miss Crompton ?” 

“ No, I am sure I would not” — his old haughty 
spirit to the front. 

“ You surprise me, old man. I thought your de- 
votion to her was so great you would not hesitate 
to make any sacrifice.” 

“ Well, you know, we are not always under- 
stood,” returned Van Gilding, flushing slightly. 

“ Very true, though Tdid not think myself mis- 
taken in this matter,” replied Milkston, inclined to 
press the point. 

“Well, whether you read me right or not, it 
doesn’t bear upon the question at issue. Let us 
see, then, if there is not some way of turning 5rour 
suggestion to good account.” 


io8 A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS. 

“ I dare say there is. Now I think of it, I know 
a man in the advertising business who would take 
you in with him, possibly.” 

“ An advertising agent ?” 

“Yes, runs a large business of his own.” 

“ But he would expect me to work, of course ?” 

“ No, I think that could be all arranged — a friend 
of mine, you see.” 

“ Oh, a friend, well, that is fortunate. What is 
his name ?” 

“Migzer — Theodore Migzer — just the place for 
you. Van. I will call on him during the day and 
see what can be done.” 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS. 


109 


IX. 

'^HEODORE MIGZER was a character — a 
^ strange combination, a many sided man, 
possessed of great energy and in some respects un- 
usual ability. With commanding appearance, 
supreme assurance and pleasing address, he made 
his way into secret orders, into the crack military 
organization, into clubs, business associations, 
corporations, and society itself. His acquaintance 
was extensive, he spent money freely, and was in 
the eyes of the world a good fellow, generous and 
obliging. With hearty grasp and clever tongue* 
he greeted all, making them feel that in him they 
had a warm friend. He seldom failed to grant a 
favor ; seldom failed to rob the party favored. His 
methods were more respectable and more profitable 
than those of the common thief, and withal less dan- 
gerous. He did not know the first principles of 
integrity or loyalty. Friendship and good fellow- 
ship he cultivated as a means to an end, insensible 
to the finer feelings that cement true men to- 
gether. A polished man of the world — a gambler ; 
a bright, energetic business man — a dishonest vil- 
lain ; a liberal friend — a deceitful fraud ; a gentle- 
man — a sort of Fagin on a larger scale. Such was 
Theodore Migzer — in sight, all that is desirable. 


10 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS. 


secretly a most dangerous and despicable char- 
acter. 

To this man (I use the word man for conveni-. 
ence) went Milkston in the interest of his friend 
Van Gilding. 

“ Any favor I can do for you, my dear Milkston, 
will be done with pleasure,” said Migzer warmly. 

“ I felt satisfied of this,” returned the latter. 
“ No one is more ready to help others than you. 
But the favor I shall ask is not for myself. I have 
a friend who wants to come to business, and who 
wants to remain away from it.” 

“ Rather a cross purpose, I should say,” laughed 
Migzer. 

“ Yes, rather,” replied Milkston, explaining the 
situation. 

“ Oh, I see the point — a clever scheme — your 
idea, you say — you’re a trump, Milkston — wish you 
wanted to come with me. But now about your 
friend — what is the name ?” 

“ Van Gilding — you must know him — graduate 
of Yale, and the young lady is the daughter of 
Wilson D. Crompton, the broker.” 

“Crompton’s daughter! h’m, h’m,” exclaimed 
Migzer. “ Yes, I shall be very glad to make a place 
for the young man — wealthy fellow, you say — not 
necessary for him to work ?” 

“ Yes, plenty of money, I judge from the way he 
spends it, and a good fellow too. But he has no 
taste for business.” 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS. 


Ill 


“ I see — good scheme, as I said before — simply 
wants to seem to be in business to satisfy the 
Crompton family.” 

“Yes, or, more correctly speaking, Crompton 
himself.” 

“Yes, yes,” said Migzer, thoughtfully. “Well, 
bring him down, and I will arrange everything as 
you wish.” 

“ I appreciate your kindness very much,” re- 
plied Milkston, shaking hands. “ I shall see you, 
then, tomorrow forenoon, and will have Van 
Gilding with me.” 

“ Yes, in the forenoon, say at twelve o’clock.” 

“Twelve o’clock — very well — good day.” 


II2 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS. 


X. 


HE life of an impecunious reporter, Bain, in 



^ New York, isn’t the most juicy in the 
world,” said Goggins, one afternoon, jingling the 
few stray coins in his pocket by way of keeping 
his spirits up. 

“ But the juicy element, you know, comes largely 
from ripening,” replied Bainbridge. “ Your career 
as a reporter is yet in early growth.” 

“ Very good ; but some things wither and die 
from lack of nourishment or sunshine.” 

“And do you think yourself in danger of suffer- 
ing from either of these causes?” laughed Bain- 
bridge. 

“ No, not exactly in danger, since I get enough 
to eat, but there is mighty little sunshine comes 
my way. News gathering, to one of my experi- 
ence, is a cloud-bound occupation.” 

“You are less cheerful tonight, old fellow, than 
I ever saw you during all our acquaintance.” 

“Well, I feel blue, thundering blue. When one 
works like a mule all the week, and finds on 
Saturday night that nearly all his copy has been 
consigned to the waste basket, and that practically 
no money is coming to him, he feels like smashing 
things — I feel like smashing things.” 


WITH FLUSHED FACE AND HARD BITTER LOOK HE TURNED HIS BACK 
HAUGH'ITLY UPON BAINBRIDGE — SEE PAGE 122. 








A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS. 


113 

As a mule would,” suggested Bainbridge, with 
a twinkle in his e)'e, adding : “ but is working like 
a mule the best way to advance yourself in the 
newspaper field ? ” 

“ Satirical today, I see, and at my expense,” re- 
plied Goggins, a smile forcing itself through the 
gloom of his countenance. 

“Yes, the best way, it seems to me, to show 
you the folly of losing heart.” 

“Well, perhaps you are right; but all joking 
aside, I don’t like doing piecework for a daily 
paper.” 

“How would you like a position with me ?” 

“A position with you! You don’t mean it, 
Bain ? ” replied Goggins, surprised. 

“Yes, certainly, I mean it.” 

“ I should only be too glad to come with you.” 

“ I must have some one to assist me, and would 
prefer you, if the matter of salary could be ar- 
ranged.” 

“ There will be no trouble about that. You can 
pay as much as I am earning now, I am sure.” 

“ How much is that ? ” 

“ On an average, say eight dollars a week.” 

“Would ten satisfy you for the present?” 

“Yes, I would like to come on even less.” 

“ You will be worth ten dollars to me if any- 
thing — I would not pay you less. As the busi- 
ness prospers, assuming that it will, I will increase 
your salary as fast as I can afford to do so.” 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS. 


1 14 

“Your proposition is generous and perfectly 
satisfactory, but I thought you intended to get 
along at first without assistance.” 

“ That was my intention, but I have been learn- 
ing something right along, and find that I cannot 
hope to succeed if I put my time on work that can 
be done by a clerk. The proprietor worth to his 
business only ten dollars a week would not prove 
a strong competitor. I see how I can devote my 
attention to matters that will yield me much bet- 
ter returns. For instance, there is advertising, 
which is no small factor in the publishing busi- 
ness.” 

“ That is so ; and if you can secure a fair 
amount of it, your venture will look more hope- 
ful,” said Goggins, who had up to this time been 
a pessimist. 

“ I already have some promised me, and have 
made the acquaintance of several advertising 
agents, who say they will give me business when 
the paper is once on the market. One agent in 
particular was very encouraging. His name is 
Migzer-;-Theodore Migzer.” 

“ Oh, yes ; I remember seeing his sign on Park 
Row — queer name, it struck me.” 

“ Yes, very odd ; but he is a genial man, and, 
judging from what he said and from the number 
of clerks he employs, does a large business. I got 
a good many suggestions from him that will be 
helpful, and am to see him again tomorrow fore- 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS. 


IIS 

noon, hoping to get one or two advertisements for 
the first number of the paper. By the way, did I 
tell you that Saturday night will be my last with 
the telegraph company?” 

“No; this is the first I have heard of it,” re- 
plied Goggins, surprised. “ Everything hereafter, 
then, is to be staked on the venture?” 

“ Everything, yes ; and on Monday morning, 
with your help, we will take hold in earnest and 
make things move.” 

“ I’m with you, Bain, old fellow,” said Goggins, 
grasping his friend’s hand warmly ; “ and with 
my aid success is certain. But tell me, you must 
have raised some money ? ” 

“ Yes ; I found a friend who on my own note 
loaned me four hundred dollars ; not much, to be 
sure, but it will prove useful ; and this sum, to- 
gether with the small line of credit promised me, 
must serve as my capital.” 


i6 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS, 


XI. 


ERY glad to meet you, Mr. Van Gilding,” 



^ said Theodore Migzer, extending his hand. 
“Your friend Milkston here said many nice 
things of you yesterday.” 

“ I am sure I appreciate his kindness and yours 
as well in greeting me so warmly, since you know 
the purpose of this call,” replied Van Gilding. 

“ But why should that make any difference, 
pray? I understand the situation fully, I think, 
and do not look upon you as one coming to me 
seeking employment,” said Migzer, in a way that 
put Van Gilding quite at his ease. 

“ Just as I told you it would be. Van,” remarked 
Milkston. 

“Yes, and I am glad to find everything so 
agreeable. You see, Mr. Migzer, I felt a sort of 
horror of coming to a busy man like you on a 
matter of this kind,” said Van Gilding. 

“ I don’t see why you should, and besides I am 
never too busy to do a friend a favor. Come 
with me into the next room, and see how it will 
suit you — roll top desk and comfortable office 
chair.” 

“Why, these are brand new,” said Milkston, 
surprised. 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS. 117 

“Yes, just in this morning. I thought this 
room would suit Mr. Van Gilding best, and new 
furniture is always so pleasing to the eye,” re- 
turned Migzer, unlocking the desk. 

“ Exceedingly kind in you, Mr. Migzer,” said 
Van Gilding. “ I assure you I appreciate this 
effort to make it agreeable for me, but I am afraid 
you are inconveniencing yourself.” 

“ Oh, not at all, and besides I think I shall like 
some one of your intelligence — a Yale man, if you 
please — to exchange a social word with now and 
again.” 

“ But your typewriter?” urged Milkston. 

“ Oh, she is now in the large office — rather glad, 
you know, to get rid of the clatter of the ma- 
chine.” 

“ This reception is an utter surprise to me,” said 
Van Gilding. “ I am inclined to think coming 
down here will not be such a bore, after all.” 

“ I shall certainly see that it is not,” returned 
Migzer. “I never allow any one with me to be 
bored, and besides, as I understand it, you are 
not to remain here any more than you choose. 
Your aim is to seem to be in business — to have 
regular employment.” 

“Yes, that is the idea. You see I am not will- 
ing to tie myself down to a desk so long as there 
is no need to do so.” 

“ You are quite right. I have often wished my- 
self out of business, so that I could have more 


ii8 A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS. 

time for pleasure, but when one is at the head of 
a house like this he finds it very difficult to break 
away.” 

“ I should think so,” replied Van Gilding, be- 
ginning to look upon Theodore Migzer as an ex- 
traordinarily pleasant fellow. 

“ Yes, no one knows how difficult till he has 
been similarly situated. By the way, I am a mem- 
ber of the Terrapin Club, wffiich meets at one 
o’clock — best dinner in town — nothing equals it. 
Now won’t you both join me? I would like 
immensely to have you do so, and you would en- 
joy it — all jolly fellows, and such terrapin.” 

“ Thank you,” said Milkston ; “ I would like 
nothing better — awfully fond of terrapin, and 
have heard a good deal of the Terrapin Club — a 
lively set of boys. What do you say. Van ?” 

“ Why, certainly, I’ll go with pleasure.” 

“ A wise conclusion,” replied Migzer. “ I’ll see 
that you enjoy it so much you will want to go a 
second time with me. Now, if you will both ex- 
cuse me for a few minutes while I look after some 
business matters, I will be with you in time for 
the dinner. You can remain here and get accus- 
tomed to this office. Everything in the way of 
stationery, pens, and so forth, is in the desk, Mr. 
Van Gilding.” 

“ Well, old man, how do you like him?” asked 
Milkston, quietly, when Migzer had gone back to 
his desk in the adjoining room. 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS. 


119 

“ Like him immensely — is the most genial man 
I ever met.” 

“ Isn’t he pleasant and whole souled ? ” 

“Yes, and the way he grasps one’s hand makes 
him seem like an old friend.” 

“ Yes, I’ve often noticed that ; and do you know 
I think he has done the handsome thing by 
you in furnishing your office like this.” 

“ Exceedingly handsome ; and what good taste 
he’s shown in everything — even in the inkstand- 
nothing gaudy and cheap, you see.” 

“ That is so. He does everything in the swellest 
way — spends heaps of money.” 

“ Makes it easily, I suppose,” said Van Gilding. 

“ Oh, yes ; I have heard that he has made as 
much as a hundred thousand dollars in a single 
year.” 

“ A hundred thousand dollars ! Is it possible ? ” 
exclaimed Van Gilding, with growing admiration 
for so clever a man. 

“Yes, there isn’t much doubt of it. You see he 
is associated with men who put through big 
schemes — is on the inside with them.” 

“ I see — nothing like operating on a sure thing.” 

“ That is so ; and I think. Van, you would do 
well to get some points from him. We might use 
them and turn a good investment occasionally.” 

“ I’ve been thinking of that myself, and will see 
what can be done after getting better acquainted.” 

“ It is good fun to make a little money once in 


120 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS. 


a while, even if a fellow doesn’t need it,” remarked 
Milkston. 


“ Let him come in,” said Migzer to the clerk, 
who had just brought a card. “ Well, how is it to- 
day ?” he continued, a minute later, extending his 
hand to Bainbridge. 

“ Everything is moving satisfactorily, thank 
you,” returned the latter, cheerfully ; “ and I ex- 
pect you will give me enough business to make the 
outlook very bright.” 

“ Glad to hear it, yes, glad to see your courage 
is so good — a difficult undertaking, but you look 
like one who can carry it on to a successful issue 
— won’t you be seated ?” 

“ Thank you, but I do not want to take up so 
much of your time.” 

“ Oh, that’s all right, and besides we may do a 
little business together — always like to encourage 
young men and help them to a successful start.” 

“ I wish there were others as generous,” replied 
Bainbridge with warm gratitude. 

“ But I am hardly entitled to such credit from 
you. Surely Bodwell & Company and the other 
agents must have done something handsome.” 

‘‘ But they have not, much to my regret.” 

“ And you have seen them personally ?” 

“Yes, they were courteous enough, but put me 
off with the remark that nothing could be done 
without seeing the paper itself.” 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS, 


121 


“ I am surprised, for every one of them handles 
a lot of business that could be turned over to you.’' 

“ But they represented that they had no power 
in the matter — that they had to submit everything 
to the advertiser for his approval before giving it 
out.” 

“ Simply an excuse — a way of getting rid of you 
for the time being. I am in no better position to 
give you business than they are, and yet here are 
several things for you — soap, perfume and food ad- 
vertisements — all gilt edge business. Y ou may take 
these electrotypes with you. I will have the order 
made out and sent by mail tonight.” 

“ I appreciate your kindness more than it is pos- 
sible for you to understand,” replied Bainbridge 
heartily. 

“ Very glad to give them to you — three good 
orders, too — run up to over two hundred dollars.” 

“ Splendid orders, and business of such good 
character — encourages me very much.” • 

“ I’m glad to be the means of helping you, but 
this is only a starter. You may expect other orders 
to follow these. I feel interested in you, and will 
do all I can to make your venture a paying one. 
By the way, you told me you were a Yale man, I 
believe?” 

“Yes — an 8 — man.” 

“ 8 — ! I have a surprise for you. Come with 
me,” said Migzer, leading the way to the adjoining 
room. “A classmate of yours, Mr. Van Gilding,” 


122 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS. 


he continued, smiling broadly in anticipation of 
the surprise he would witness. 

“ A classmate of mine ! ” exclaimed Van Gilding, 
rising to face the visitor. The next instant, with 
flushed face and a hard, bitter look, he turned his 
back haughtily upon Bainbridge. 

For an instant all was silence. Migzer and 
Milkston were dazed. They looked at each other 
and at the two men from Yale, wondering what 
could be the cause of this strange behavior. Migzer, 
with flushed and embarrassed face, stammered and 
moved uneasily toward the door. 

“ This you could not have foreseen, Mr. Migzer,” 
said Bainbridge, with quiet dignity. Do not 
therefore blame yourself.” 

“ I thought I was doing you each a good turn — 
giving you an agreeable surprise, you know,” an- 
swered Migzer. 

“Yes, I am sure of that. Your motive I appre- 
ciate, and beyond that you are not responsible,’' 
said Bainbridge, passing into the adjoining room, 
followed by Migzer. “ I certainly regret,” he con- 
tinued, “ that I should be a party to your embar- 
rassment, but accidents cannot be avoided.” 

“ No, it seems not,” answered Migzer, inclined 
to say as little as possible, and, as it impressed 
Bainbridge, manifesting a strange anxiety. 

“ And why should he seem so nervous over the 
matter — a mere accident as it was?” asked the 
young publisher of himself, as he walked toward 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS. 


123 


his office with the advertising electrotypes in his 
hand. “ Fortunate/’ he continued, meditating, 
“ that I got these orders before this untimely meet- 
ing, otherwise I fear I should have had to go to 
press without them, and the paper will look so 
much better — seem so much more like a genuine 
publication — with a fair show of good advertising.” 

“ I hope you understand, Mr. Van Gilding,” said 
Migzer, apologetically, “ that I am innocent in this 
matter — knew nothing, of course, of your feeling 
toward this man Bainbridge.” 

“Yes, I understand,” said Van Gilding, hardly 
at ease. “ An accident, of course, though the sort 
of accident I do not take to kindly.” 

“Yes, I judged so from your manner, and I re- 
gret it as much as you can.” 

“ Does he come here often ? ” asked Van Gilding. 

“ He come here often !” exclaimed Migzer, in a 
tone that suggested the absurdity of the thought. 

“ Pardon me for asking the question, but it oc- 
curred to me that you must know him well to 
learn that he was a member of my class in 
college.” 

“ Never saw him but once before in my life,” 
replied Migzer. “ He came then, as he did today, 
to solicit advertising for his paper.” 

“ For his paper !” repeated Van Gilding, incre- 
dulously. 

“ Yes ; the paper he is about to bring out. He 
showed me the prospectus, and told me he was a 


124 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS. 


Yale man. So that is all I know of him or his en- 
terprise.” 

“ Oh, I see, that puts the matter in a better 
light ; for I thought if he were a friend of yours I 
would not want to come here.” 

“ No, no friend of mine, I assure you.” 

“ So he is going in the publishing business — 
something cheap, I suppose — must have found 
some idiot to back him — no money of his own, you 
know.” 

“ I know nothing of his financial condition,” re- 
plied Migzer, cautiously. 

“ You have seen a prospectus of his paper, you 
say ? ” asked Van Gilding, his curiosity scintillating 
with envy. 

“ Yes, the first issue will be out soon, I believe — 
called Breeze." 

“ Breeze ! ” repeated Van Gilding, with rising in- 
flection. 

“ Yes, that is the name. His aim is to make it 
bright, he says — sort of satirical, humorous sheet, 
as near as I understand.” 

“ Satirical and humorous,” said Van Gilding, half 
audibly, and frowning darkly. 

“ A wild undertaking unless he has a fortune to 
push it with,” remarked Migzer, by way of com- 
fort to his new friend. 

“ Not much chance of his succeeding, then, I 
judge,” replied Van Gilding, a ray of light break- 
ing over his cloud-bound face. 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS. 


125 


“ No, none whatever, I judge. Why, how is he 
to compete with the old established publishing 
houses? The idea is absurd. They have every- 
thing in their favor — money, experience, skilled 
employees, an established circulation, a name 
known throughout the country, and large advertis- 
ing patronage. Against this what has he to war- 
rant him in undertaking such a venture?” 

“ Nothing, I should say, except his assurance,” 
replied Van Gilding, bitterly. 

“ Now you remind me of it, I remember that 
it seemed to me he has a plenty of that — cheek, 
perhaps, would be the better word — otherwise he 
would never have bored me for advertising for his 
proposed paper — a thing that isn’t born yet, and 
has, of course, no circulation.” 

“ I should think that was cheek indeed, but you, 
of course, gave him no encouragement.” 

“ Encouragement ! ” laughed Migzer, as if it were 
a good joke. “ I think too highly of my honor to 
my customers to throw away their money on such 
wildcat schemes.” 

“ I am glad to hear you say so — makes me feel 
more at home here.” 

“ By the way,” said Migzer, looking at his watch, 
“ we must hurry away, or we shall be late at the 
Terrapin Club dinner.” 


126 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS. 


XII. 

T T was a blustery, blizzardish night outside, 
^ and cold withal, so cold that the chill pene- 
trated the house, causing Mr. Crompton and 
his daughter to draw nearer to the warm grate fire. 
Home never seems so sweet as on a night like this. 
Effect is always heightened by contrast, and what 
a contrast the howling wintry wind to Mr. Cromp- 
ton’s pretty library, tastefully decorated with pic- 
tures and bric-a-brac, and furnished, as such rooms 
should be, with a view to comfort. The soft, yel- 
low blaze from the kennel coal sent out a warm- 
ing and cheering glow. Mr. Crompton, in smoking 
jacket and slippers, sat in his great easy chair, his 
eyes bent upon the fire, seemingly watching the 
flame as it shot upward, drawn spitefully by the 
fierce wind without. 

At a little distance sat his daughter, with book 
in hand, as sweet a girl as proud father could 
reasonably desire. If she was the acknowledged 
beauty at Mrs. Strivewell’s reception, tonight she 
was yet sweeter and more charming. Then she wore 
a party dress, with stiff, hard waist, but now her 
robe, of a delicate tint and of some soft material, was 
artistically fashioned, adding a graceful effect to a 
graceful figure. The conventional basque gives 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS. 


127 


its wearer a cast iron appearance, while the dress 
that suggests careless and easy draping lends a 
charm that no other cut can equal. 

A close observer could have seen something more 
than an idle gaze in Mr. Crompton’s eyes, for he was 
deep in thought, studying a problem that pressed 
him for an answer — a problem bearing on one dearer 
to him than all else in the world. As he became 
more deeply absorbed, a frown, a mere suggestion 
at first, came out upon his brow and lodged there, 
growing till well defined, indicating the nature of 
the mental struggle within. And now it wavers, 
vanishes almost, and returns again with darker 
shading, only to yield at last to a sentiment of dif- 
ferent nature — solicitude, perhaps, expresses best 
the thought. 

As she turned the pages of her book. Miss 
Crompton’s eyes strayed to her father’s face, which 
revealed the reverie he was in. 

She watched him for a time wondering the sub- 
ject of his meditations, and then went to him, and, 
flinging her arms impetuously around his neck, 
kissed him. 

“ What is worrying you, my dear father ?” she 
said, throwing herself upon an ottoman at his feet, 
her arms resting upon his knees, while she looked 
up at him, anxious to share his thoughts. 

“ Worrying me ! ” repeated her father confus- 
edly. “ Why do you ask such a question, my 
child?” 


28 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS. 


“ Because, if anything causes you anxiety, I am 
old enough and strong enough to help you bear it. 
Won’t you make me your confidante ?” 

“ Are you quite sure you would like to help me in 
the present matter?” asked Mr. Crompton, taking 
his daughter’s hand in his own and stroking it af- 
fectionately. 

“ It is my place and my pleasure as well to help 
so good a father as you are to me,” replied the 
daughter. 

“ But suppose to help me called for a great sac- 
rifice from you ?” 

“ Should I not always be ready to make a reason- 
able and proper sacrifice for you ? ” 

“ Do daughters usually think so, especially if the 
sacrifice be against their own judgment ?” 

“ I can answer only for myself,” returned Miss 
Crompton, suspecting now the trend of her father’s 
thoughts. 

“ But I will not allow you to commit yourself, 
Lela,^on this point, without knowing the nature of 
my anxiety. As you say, you are old enough, and, 
I am proud to say, have the strength of intellect 
to talk this matter over with me reasonably and 
sensibly. I have already said enough to give you 
a hint of the subject of my meditation.” 

“ Yes, I think I understand you, father,” she 
said, her hand trembling in his and her cheeks 
whiter by many shades. 

“ And you realize, I am sure, my dear, that I can 


WHAT IS WORRYING YOU, MY DEAR FATHER?” — SEE PAGE 127. 







A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS. 


129 


have but one object in this matter, and even in 
life, and that is your happiness,” replied the 
father, with aching heart. 

“ Yes, I am sure of that, and yet how can I be 
happy, if I follow your advice and give him up ? ” 
“ Experience and observation are wise teachers, 
my child, who make plain what seems to one of 
your age unreasonable — impossible even. Until 
this engagement question came up, you have al- 
ways trusted in a singular degree in my judgment 
and advice. Have you not found it for your good 
— found that all my thought since your mother’s 
death has been centered upon you ? ” 

“ Yes,” replied the daughter softly, and with 
downcast eyes, “always.” 

“ If, then, in other matters my judgment should 
prove so good, why should it be utterly wrong in 
this one, and why should you think your judg- 
ment superior to mine ? — you an inexperienced 
girl with no knowledge of the world.” 

“ It is not that I consider my judgment better 
than yours. I do not think of it in that way. 
But you cannot understand how I feel about it. 
It is not a matter of reason at all. How can a 
woman with true, pure love forget a man to 
whom she is attached, and say, as if it were a 
matter of cold business, ‘ I will care no more for 
him,’ and straightway and without seeming 
effort turn her thoughts toward another or cease 
to love at all ?” 


30 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS. 


“ That is absurd, my child, and opposed to the 
very nature of human affections,” 

“ And yet is it not what you ask me to do, think- 
ing, and, I know, honestly believing, that it would 
be for my good?” returned Miss Crompton with 
growing enthusiasm. 

“To get at it in the way you suggest is not 
what I ask. If you were so cold a being, even I, 
your father, could have no love for you — for one 
so inconstant, a thing of fickle fancy. Love is the 
chief element that binds us to each other, that makes 
association desirable, bearable even. Without it 
this would be a miserable world, cold, selfish, 
cruel, unendurable. To love unwisely, however, 
is folly, and shows the lack of good judgment.” 

“ But it does not seem to me, as I said before, a 
matter of judgment. If a woman loves a man, she 
loves him, and that is all there is of it. She can- 
not help it, if she has any heart at all.” 

“ On your theory, then, if a young woman of 
good family loves a coachman, or a butler, or we 
will say a tramp, there is no help for it — nothing 
but to continue on in idiotic love.” 

“ But that is absurd, father,” replied Miss 
Crompton, finding herself cornered by his better ^ 
reasoning. 

“ Not absurd at all,” said he, “ for we have any 
number of conspicuous precedents. Whenever 
one is brought to public notice the world cries 
‘ fool,’ but logically considered, since it is not a 


A TRACED V QF ERRORS. 


1 31 

question of reason, the girl who marries her 
coachman is equally as wise as her sister who be- 
comes the wife of the best man in the community. 
If the love of the less fortunate sister ought to be 
transferred, then it is transferable, and being 
transferable there is no sense in a girl’s allowing 
herself to become the wife of a man unworthy of 
her. Love is a question of association — a thing of 
cause and effect. You love your big St. Bernard 
to the extent that you would be heavy hearted if 
he were to get killed or grow sick and die, yet 
twelve months ago, when I first brought him to 
you, his suffering would not have moved you more 
than the suffering of any other dog. In the year 
that he has been with us he has made a place for 
himself in our hearts, and we likewise by kind 
treatment and petting have made ourselves im- 
portant to his happiness.” 

“ But it seems perfectly dreadful, father, to com- 
pare a girl’s feelings for a favorite dog to her love 
for one to whom she is fondly attached,” replied 
the daughter, holding firmly to her own opinion. 

“ It does not appear to me to be at all dreadful,” 
returned her father, warming to the argument. 
“ Love for a pet dog is governed by the same laws 
that bear upon the attachment between men and 
women, for both alike are nourished and fed by 
association. Do not misunderstand me and think 
I hold that the two are one and the same thing. 
Such is not my idea — is not the fact, though the 


132 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS. 


same philosophy runs through both. You can un* 
derstand, I am sure, how you could become equally 
fond of another dog, while you cannot realize that 
it would be possible for you to care so much for 
another man as you now do for Van Gilding. And 
this is why I have made use of your St. Bernard — 
simply as an illustration, and with no view to 
cheapening the attachment you feel for the man in 
question. I have no doubt of the purity and force 
of your sentiment for him, neither have I any 
question but that it is possible for you to care quite 
as much for another — to love him with equal 
warmth and sincerity, providing of course all con- 
ditions are favorable.” 

“ How little you know me, my dear father, and 
how cruel of you to say such things,” said the 
daughter, with moist eyes. 

“ You should know, my child, that I could not 
think of being cruel to you,” replied the father, 
sensitive to the situation, yet feeling the necessity 
of exhausting all argument before yielding. 

“ Forgive me, father,” replied the daughter, 
pressing her lips to his hand. “ I know you could 
not, but then the thought you express seems so 
horrible to me — so cold and calculating — not a bit 
like you.” 

“To try and show that I am right,” he replied, 
slowly, “ to make you understand if possible the 
folly of your infatuation and the falsity of your 
reasoning, I will tell you a story of myself — of my 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS, 


33 


own foolish experience when a young man, and 
like yourself the plaything of fancy, never heeding 
the reason that should have guided me. I had 
hoped never to resurrect this bit of personal his- 
tory, long since buried, but for your good I will 
do so, though there is no need that you Should 
know it.” 

“ I cannot imagine anything in your life that I 
do not know,” replied the daughter, already curious. 

“ No, you could hardly imagine it, Lela,” said 
the father, hesitating to fix upon the best way to 
open the personal reminiscence. You already 
know,” he continued, “ that when I was quite a 
young man I came to New York and lived with 
Uncle John Crompton. He had given up active 
business, but had a good number of investments in 
various enterprises, one of which was located in 
the upper part of this State in a place called Wood- 
ville, which, by the way, was most appropriately 
named, since for miles and miles around it was 
one vast forest. A fine large mill had been built 
there for the manufacture of pulp from the spruce 
trees abounding in that immediate region. After 
it had been in operation for a year or so. Uncle 
John managed in some way to get a controlling 
interest in it, and he conceived the idea that it 
would be a good thing for me to learn something 
about the manufacture of wood pulp. And, more- 
over, he wanted a personal representative on the 
ground. Thus it came about that I was sent to 


134 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS. 


Woodville, which consisted at that time of this 
pulp mill, a country store, and the few humble 
homes of those employed by my uncle. I got 
board in the family of one Sylvester Hargrave, a 
good hearted, uncultivated laborer. He lived in 
one of the houses put up and owned by the com- 
pany, a story and a half structure of the plainest 
type. It was, however, much superior to the fur- 
niture, which was scanty, and not of the most 
fashionable or expensive make. The home, 
though, was all very well for a man in his circum- 
stances, and compared favorably with those of the 
other workmen. 

“ Mr. Hargrave’s family comprised himself, wife 
and daughter, a young woman at that time about 
eighteen. Mrs. Hargrave was rather short and fat 
— a jolly faced woman who knew a good deal of 
the kitchen and little else. Miss Rachel Hargrave 
was generously endowed with her mother’s figure. 
Her horizon, too, was bounded by the kitchen walls, 
but in her little world she was no mean actor. 
Coming from Uncle John’s palatial residence to 
this quiet domestic home was a decided drop for 
me in the social scale. But the difference in the 
style of living in nowise equaled that between the 
society in which I had mingled and these simple 
Hargrave people, my present associates. 

“The drawing room of New York, with bric-a- 
brac and pictures, and merry with bright people, 
was exchanged for the kitchen, and these simple. 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS. 


135 


good hearted folks, who, it seemed to me, were 
the embodiment of all that was uninteresting. 
They knew practically nothing of books save the 
three R’s. The art of agreeable and interesting 
conversation was apparently as far from them as 
from the mud turtle which haunted the streams 
thereabouts. They talked quite enough, to be 
sure, but to talk is not necessarily to say anything. 
The few neighbors, the workmen, the pulp mill, 
were gone over and over again, always with equal 
interest to them — with equal stupidity to me. You 
can have no conception of my dislike for Wood- 
ville and the people in it. My first few weeks 
there were worse than being alone in the forest. 
The small talk of the Hargraves, and of Miss 
Rachel in particular — her dumpy figure clad in 
calico of outrageous cut — ^all was so out of har- 
mony with what I had been accustomed to in 
New York, that I was driven nearly mad. The 
table etiquette, too, at the Hargraves’ was pictur- 
esque and original — a thing of terror to one unac- 
customed to its peculiarities. It was a vigorous 
“ get there ” etiquette, such as you have never 
seen, with a jump-in-and-win swing that made 
things move. There were no frills and furbelows 
in that family, neither in their etiquette nor else- 
where. It was straight business with them all 
around the circuit. Their chief dissipation and 
luxury was tobacco, but even this did not extend 
to Miss Rachel, though it seemed to me it was 


136 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS. 


simply a question of time when it would, since 
her parents were so fond of it. They affected no 
especial style in this bit of extravagance more 
than in other things. Sweetly scented fine cut, 
the modern cigarette, and the high priced Havana, 
had not penetrated the Hargrave household. 
Navy black plug was the regulation brand — some- 
thing strong enough to shatter the nerves of less 
hardy people than they, and I often wondered that 
it did not kill them, as I watched them smoking it 
by the hour in old fashioned clay pipes, grown 
black and strong with use. The fumes alone 
were quite enough at first to drive me out into the 
fresh air, however cold the wintry wind. But 
Miss Rachel did not mind it, having been reared 
in an atmosphere thus laden with poison. 

“ I took a good supply of books with me, but 
reading I found to be a wretched farce in that 
stuffy kitchen, the only room in which a fire was 
kept regularly.” 

“And up in that woody country?” said Miss 
Crompton, becoming so much interested in her 
father’s story that she forgot her own heartache. 

“Yes,” he replied; “it is a peculiar fact 
that where fuel is most easily obtained it is 
used the least. People in the country get in the 
way of living in one room, and it seems to them a 
waste of effort to keep up two fires, and besides 
they get so accustomed to the kitchen that they 
prefer it to any other room.” 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS, 


137 


“ What queer taste ! ” exclaimed Miss Crompton, 
whose knowledge of country folk was very imper- 
fect. “ But why didn’t you have a stove in your 
room, so that you could be by yourself?” 

“ That is just what I did do after three or four 
weeks, feeling that I could stand the kitchen no 
longer. I wrote to Uncle John to send me a good 
heater, for the winter was the coldest I had ever 
seen. When it came I felt very light hearted, 
thinking my imprisonment was over and antici- 
pating much pleasure from the pile of books in 
my room, for in them I knew were people with 
whom I could find pleasure in associating. But the 
plan did not prove as successful as I expected. 
The fact is I felt too lonely in there by myself to for- 
get myself and my whereabouts. The wind whistl- 
ing around the house, the creaking of great trees 
sending out an ominous sound, the occasional re- 
port of a nail broken by the action of the frost, all 
distracted my attention and unfitted me for enjoy- 
ing fiction. Weary of my book, I would throw it 
down and join the family in the kitchen, which, 
now I was not forced to remain in it, seemed less 
disagreeable to me. And the Hargraves, too, 
became less stupid, whether because I knew them 
better, or that I was getting down nearer to their 
standard I could not tell. I found myself at 
length taking part in their small talk and their 
gossip. The Joneses, the Srniths, the Higginses 
and all others in the place were as familiar to me 


138 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS. 


as to the Hargraves. I knew the family history of 
every one — his aims, his successes, his follies, and 
his love affairs. Month by month I thought less 
of the past and more of the present. My horizon 
was fast narrowing down to the little world 
around me, and it seemed rather a restful life, 
well supplied with sleep and appetite. 

“Miss Rachel and myself did not get along es- 
pecially well at first. We did not of course in- 
dulge in open hostilities, but were uninteresting 
to each other. At least she was so to me. 
Leaving New York girls, and I knew some very 
charming ones at that time, and going directly to 
the Hargraves’, a young man with my eye for beauty 
and appreciation of refinement and culture could 
hardly fail to make invidious comparisons between 
Miss Rachel and the more polished members of 
her sex. At any rate I did so, and my thoughts 
must have been reflected in my manner, for she was 
very curt with me, much to the annoyance of her 
parents, who were anxious to retain the revenue 
derived from boarding me, and also to keep on 
my sunny side, since I was the representative of 
the owner of the mill. But Miss Rachel was ob- 
durate — not saucy, but cool, and eyed me curi- 
ously whenever she thought I did not see her. 
Several times I caught her at this, much to my 
amusement, and to her annoyance, as evinced by 
the rush of color to her face. 

“ ‘My superior airs,’ as she called them, I after 


A TRACED V OF ERRORS. 


139 


ward learned, annoyed her. Plain Jim Smith and 
Nate Stover, with woolen shirts and trousers in- 
side cowhide boots, were ‘ good enough for her,’ 
she said. They were men in her eyes, who could 
swing an axe and ford a stream, dress a cow or 
dance a hornpipe. My city manners and dress 
were as distasteful to them as to her, and since 
they were rivals for her hand, and necessarily 
with her much of the time during the long winter 
evenings, I of course naturally came in for a good 
share of rustic criticism. Rusticity in the city is 
a thing to laugh and joke over, but city polish in 
a rural village is not infrequently a thing of con- 
tempt and possibly coarse abuse from the more 
aggressive portion of the community. 

“ But when I manifested a preference for the 
kitchen over the seclusion of my room. Miss 
Rachel commenced to warm to me — very gradu- 
ally, though. The rivalry between Jim Smith and 
Nate Stover interested me. I watched them and 
their awkward love making, wondering often 
which would win the belle of Woodville. It was 
a new sort of courtship to me — thoroughly un- 
romantic, thoroughly unlike anything I had ever 
seen or read of. It did not appear to me that 
there was much genius or natural tact on either 
side, yet they seemed to progress satisfactorily 
and harmoniously up to a certain point, when it 
became evident that either Jim or Nate must 
yield to the other. A good deal of bitter feeling 


140 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS. 


followed, a good deal of gossip sprang up afresh, 
but in the end Nate Stover was victorious, and 
came out as the acknowledged lover of Miss 
Rachel Hargrave. The latter bloomed and 
blushed in the sunshine of his sentiment, and 
would, I think, have been immensely happy 
but for my presence and the feeling that I 
secretly sneered at Nate and his love making. 
I am certain that this annoyed her, for she 
turned the November side of her nature toward me 
again. Divining the cause, I decided to make an 
extra effort to be agreeable to her, hoping to ban- 
ish from her mind the fancy that annoyed her. I 
commenced by repeating, in so far as I could re- 
member, the story of Robinsdn Crusoe. This tale 
I chose, thinking it best to start with something 
simple that all could comprehend. Nate Stover 
was present, and I paid a good deal of attention to 
him — actual deference even. This, I saw, touched 
a responsive chord in Rachel’s nature. She, with 
all the others, became intensely excited over 
Crusoe’s experiences. From this beginning I told 
other stories, and then read a book aloud. It was 
received so well that I read others and still others, 
till at length my supply gave out, and pending a 
fresh installment I introduced checkers, inviting 
Miss Rachel to play with me. Had I suggested 
this two months before, she would have refused, I 
am sure, but now she accepted the invitation with 
evident pleasure. This gave us a new sort of en- 


A TRACED y OF ERRORS. 


141 


tertainment, and one that brought us much to- 
gether. Then I undertook to teach her the banjo, 
which I could play very well. She had a fairly 
good ear for music and a very good natural voice, 
rather sweet and pleasing. She learned the songs 
I knew, and after that we often sang together, she 
sometimes playing the accompaniment, and some- 
times I. Nate Stover at first thought it very oblig- 
ing in me to teach Miss Rachel these accomplish- 
ments. His soul expanded, lighting up his face, 
when he first heard her play and sing, but now a 
cloud had settled upon it that in its shape depicted 
jealousy. He was a big, strong fellow, rather good 
looking, but uncultivated. The feeling that I was 
usurping intentionally or otherwise Miss Rachel’s 
love made him most bitter towards me, and now 
again there arose a fresh supply of gossip, all of 
which was carefully kept from me, for my connec- 
tion with the owner of the mill made me a sort of 
deity in the town — so very policy-serving were its 
citizens. And to this fact alone I owe my whole 
bones, else Nate Stover would have pummeled me 
into a sorry plight. But as it was, nothing of the 
sort could be meditated upon, for fear that it would 
bring ruin to some — no one knew how many and 
whom. 

“ I had no intention, of course, of wounding his 
feelings, or of coming in between him and Miss 
Rachel. If such an idea had by any chance sug- 
gested itself to me, I should have laughed myself 


142 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS. 


ill over so absurd a thought. Time went on, how- 
ever, and November changed to June alike in fact 
and figure. From music I went to books, and told 
Miss Rachel something of history, of literature, 
and art. Her imagination gradually kindled, and 
the hitherto narrow confines of her little world 
broadened. The effect of this could easily be noted 
in her round, chubby face. With dull aptitude for 
learning, she nevertheless progressed better than 
I could have expected, knowing so well as I did 
her ancestors, and the atmosphere in which she 
had been reared. 

“ The summer went by quickly, yielding all too 
soon to the cold fall days, and now we were driven 
into the house again to pass our evenings by 
stove and candle. But to me this was not the 
hardship of a twelvemonth before, when first I en- 
tered the Hargrave home. The simple life and 
manners had grown on me, and I saw much in 
them to warm the heart and lend quiet comfort to 
this life of ours. 

“ Knowing that the skating season was close at 
hand, I sent to New York for my skates, and with 
them had a pair come for Miss Rachel. How de- 
lighted she was when I presented them to her — 
more pleased at this little gift than a metropoli- 
tan heiress would be at a thousand dollar neck- 
lace ! 

“‘Will you try them with me the first ice we 
have?’ I asked. 


41 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS. 


143 


“ ‘ Nothing would please me more than to do 
so,’ she replied, admiring the handsome trim- 
mings, and expressing in every look thanks more 
eloquent than words could embody. Thus it 
happened that I took her skating, and in that 
skate my leg was broken. I was taken to my 
room and put in bed. A doctor came and set the 
bones, saying that the break was a bad one, and 
that unless I had the best of care I would never 
again have perfect use of my leg. Miss Rachel 
seemed at first to blame herself for my accident, 
saying that I would not have been on skates but 
to give her pleasure. She watched over me de- 
votedly — with the most thoughtful solicitude, 
always exerting herself to do something for my 
comfort. Now she played and sang, rewarding 
me for the lessons I had given her. Books, too, 
she read, and dainty dishes prepared by her own 
hands were constantly tendered me. Notwith- 
standing the pain from the knitting bones, I 
found myself in a rosy tinted world — warmed by 
the beat of a kindred heart, and ministered to by 
loving hands. The . eyes of this artless, simple 
country girl — whom now I loved — spoke volumes 
to me. Poor Nate Stover ! I could not under- 
stand his jealousy when first it dawned upon me, 
but now it was plain — too plain, perhaps, for in my 
own heart I felt the same bitter hatred for him. 

As the contest for Miss Rachel’s hand had 
been waged between Jim Smith and Nate Stover, 


144 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS, 


so now it must be fought between the latter and 
myself. That she loved him before my arrival 
with true, pure affection is certain, and but for me 
she would long since have been a happy bride. 
But here again comes in the law of association, 
which bore heavily upon her and myself alike, 
situated as we were under one roof, eating, sing- 
ing, reading, chatting, always together. And 
then my unfortunate accident, resulting as it did, 
revealed to me her sa:rificing nature, her tender 
solicitude, the delicate touch, the watchful care — 
all of which helped to kindle my heart with the 
love that now burned fiercely — a love that I could 
see she felt for me. 

“We became engaged to be married — she the 
dumpy little girl of calico gowns, and I the 
nephew of the proud and wealthy John Crompton. 
But what cared I for the wealth of gold and silver ? 
Was not I rich in her love ? and with such love a 
kitchen in a humble cottage is better than the 
palace of the richest. So infatuated was I with 
this simple girl, that I would have renounced 
friends, relatives, opportunities — anything and 
everything that stood in my way to oppose our 
marriage. 

“Nate Stover, poor fellow, left Woodville 
heavy hearted and with bitter feelings toward me. 
Of this I will perhaps tell you something here- 
after, but for the present I will keep close to my 
story. 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS. 


145 


“ At the time of my accident Uncle John was in 
Europe, but almost immediately on his return he 
came to Woodville in hot haste to see what condi- 
tion I was in. He was a gentleman of the old 
school, a keen observer, and endowed to an un- 
usual degree with good, sound common sense. 
He had not been in the house very long when he 
took in the situation. I saw him standing at the 
window, his brow wrinkled in deep thought. He 
did not realize that I could see him from where I 
sat. I am sure of this, for when he turned to- 
ward me an instant later his face was as sunny 
and cheerful as I ever saw it. I was puzzled at 
the opposing expressions, the one following the 
other so quickly. 

“ ‘ I think I wdll send for the doctor,’ he said, 
addressing me. ‘ I am anxious about your leg 
and want to talk with him myself about it. Pos- 
sibly he is incapable of giving you proper treat- 
ment. Of this I wish to satisfy myself, for I can- 
not allow you to go through life a cripple.’ 

“ This seemed reasonable to me, and I thanked 
Uncle John for his solicitude, not suspecting then 
what I know now. I learned from Miss Rachel 
that he went for the doctor himself. This seemed 
to me strange at the time, but I thought little of 
it, though afterward I learned his object, which 
was to arrange with the physician to advise my re- 
moval to New York, on the ground that I required 
better treatment than it was possible to get at 


146 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS. 


Woodville. New York had lost all attractions 
for me, but I could not of course be so unreason- 
able and impracticable as to refuse to accompany 
Uncle John. 

“ The leave taking between Miss Rachel and 
myself you can imagine. It is not necessary that 
I paint it — more than to suggest that it did not 
lack warmth or force. It must have been gall to 
Uncle John, though he smiled and joked, much to 
my amazement. Knowing him as well as I did, I 
naturally expected an earthquake would strike me 
when he learned my relations to Miss Rachel, 
who in his eyes must have appeared so insignifi- 
cant, so utterly unsuited to become the wife of a 
Crompton. But he was a philosopher of the 
finest type, dear old man, and never did the 
wisest sage touch the chords of two human hearts 
more skillfully than did he. It is a difficult mat- 
ter to reveal a sunny smile when a tempest rages 
within. But this is just what Uncle John did, for 
I am sure he was sufficiently provoked and dis- 
gusted to feel like throwing me out of the win- 
dow. 

“ In New York I was kept in the house by the 
doctor’s advice weeks after I was well enough to 
go out. Nearly every day, however, I sent a letter 
to Miss Rachel, teeming with my love for her and 
expressing my desire to return to her and dear old 
Woodville. I was in the early stages of this love 
affair, when the fires of sentiment burn fiercely. 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS, 


H7 


But for this fact I fear that the first letter from 
Rachel would have quite cooled my ardor. She 
could make a pie or turn a flapjack with any girl, 
but when it came to writing she was insufferably 
weak, and her first effort to me was the worst 
piece of composition, spelling and penmanship I 
have ever seen. But I was not in a critical mood. 
Her errors I laughed at, seeing only the woman 
and not the miserable expressions she employed to 
represent her thoughts. I think I wrote about six 
letters to her one. Being aware of her own weak- 
ness with the pen, she aimed to compromise the 
matter by writing as little as possible, thinking, 
doubtless, that thus fewer mistakes would haunt 
me. 

“ One day Uncle John came to me and said : 
‘ Since you expect to marry the young woman at 
Woodville, it has occurred to me I can serve you 
by promoting the prosperity of her family. I judge 
from what I saw of them that they are not in the 
best of circumstances. I learned also at the mill 
that Hargrave himself receives only a dollar and a 
half a day. He is, I believe, though, said to be a 
faithful, honest man.’ 

“‘I shall be very glad, indeed. Uncle John,’ I 
replied with enthusiasm, ‘ if you can give him a 
better position. I am sure he is honest, and that 
he would serve you faithfully.’ 

Yes, I believe so myself, and I want to show 
you that I am inclined to help you in your matri- 


148 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS. 


monial aspirations, instead of opposing them as 
you doubtless expected I would.’ 

“ ‘ I have been utterly surprised at your attitude,’ 
I replied, thanking him heartily for his encourage- 
ment and the promised aid to the Hargraves, ‘ for 
I expected the most stubborn opposition, a regular 
scene.’ 

^“But that would be silly, Wilson,’ he said, 
laughing. ‘ Not much use to oppose love matches, 
so why make myself disagreeable ? But to business : 
I have recently purchased a large tract of land in 
Wisconsin, up in the lumber district. A saw mill is 
already up and running, converting lumber into 
marketable shape. Now I want a good man to go 
there, who knows something of lumbering — a man 
in whom I can trust. If Hargrave is in every 
sense worthy, I will send him, and at a salary that 
will pay him well. I rather fixed upon him, too, 
for the reason that his wife seems a good, sensible 
woman who would not mind going into a new 
country.’ 

“‘No, she would not mind it,’ I replied, my 
thoughts wandering confusedly. 

“‘And you could recommend Hargrave?’ con- 
tinued my uncle. ‘You of course know him well.’ 

“‘Yes,’ I replied, ‘I can recommend him. You 
could not do better.’ This seemed only just to the 
father of the girl I loved, but the thought of 
her going so far from me — all the way to Wis- 
consin — was disheartening. Uncle John noted 


A, TRAGEDY OF ERRORS. 


149 


this and read me well. ‘ I have thought some- 
what of suggesting that you go out there too,’ he 
said. 

“‘Have you?’ I replied, with enthusiasm. ‘I 
would like to go so much, and new countries offer 
such a chance for enterprise.’ 

“ ‘ Yes, splendid chance ; but I cannot let you go 
at present, as I have other matters for your atten- 
tion whenever you are fully recovered.’ 

“ I had never seen Uncle John’s house so gay — 
never known the time when so many charming 
girls visited it as had been there during my compul- 
sory imprisonment. I did not guess the old gen- 
tleman’s motive then, but it is plain to me now. 
Singing, dancing, and supper parties, were the 
regular thing. I, of course, as the unfortunate 
and as Uncle John’s nephew, received a good deal 
of attention, and was thus forced into the society 
of young women who were clever in all the arts 
that go to make one interesting and fascinating. 
Had Miss Rachel been present in that brilliant 
company how inferior she would have appeared ! 
The thought forced itself upon me, and, having 
once taken definite shape in my mind, constantly 
kept recurring. The beautiful costumes, somehow 
or other, always seemed to be side by side in my 
mind with Miss Rachel’s rustic gown — the draw- 
ing room was grouped with her stuffy kitchen — the 
girl of finest figure stood beside the short, dumpy 
form of her to whom my life was pledged. And 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS. 


150 

whenever I saw a letter or note handsomely written 
and well expressed, lying beside it in my mind’s 
eye was one of Rachel’s wretched productions. 
But notwithstanding all this I loved her, and tried 
to overlook her defects, which were constantly 
heightened by my present surroundings. This 
made me anxious to get away from New York — 
to get back to Woodville, where I could forget 
everything that belittled her. But now Uncle 
John’s proposition upset my dreams. She was to 
go to Wisconsin with her father and mother, and 
I could not accompany them. Uncle John watched 
me carefully to see that I did not go off and get 
married before her departure. I thought of doing 
so, but was prevented from carrying out the rash 
purpose by various skillful devices that he threw 
in my way. 

“ At last the home of the Hargraves was broken 
up in Woodville, and they started on their long 
journey on funds furnished by my uncle. I am 
sure it is not often that two young people have 
heavier hearts than were Miss Rachel’s and mine 
at her departure. The world looked dark and 
dismal to me, and I know there were no bright rays 
in it for her on that March morning when we said 
good by. But for the hope of joining her in a few 
months, as hinted by Uncle John, I would never 
have allowed her to go without me. If this was 
not genuine love on both her part and mine, then 
I do not know what the feeling is. 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS. 


15 


Pine River Falls was the destination of the 
Hargraves — a new town up in the pine region, 
sparsely settled. Few families had moved in, the 
inhabitants being largely single men who had gone 
there from the East to make their fortunes. The 
appearance of the Hargraves, therefore, with an 
unmarried daughter, was hailed with delight, and 
sent a thrill of joy through the heart of every 
would-be benedict. Uncle John Crompton, on 
deciding to send the Hargraves to Pine River 
Falls, had ordered a comfortable house erected for 
them — the most imposing structure in the town. 
He was a man who never half did things. His 
object in sending the Hargraves there was to have 
them remain, and therefore he spared no expense 
to be sure that they would do so. He fully under- 
stood the circumstances that had brought about 
my engagement to Miss Rachel, and he argued, 
and very correctly too, that when certain influences 
produce certain results in one case, like results are 
pretty sure to follow under similar conditions. 

“ He suggested, therefore, that the Hargraves 
might find it to their advantage to take a few 
boarders into their family, saying that large prices 
could be had, and that any one would esteem it 
a rare opportunity to get board in a good family 
in Pine River Falls. Mr. and Mrs. Hargrave thought 
the idea a good one, and preparations were accord- 
ingly made with this object in view. ‘ It will seem 
more natural to have some one with us, and we 


152 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS. 


will not be so lonesome,’ argued the latter, happy 
over the prospect of the better days before them. 
But Rachel was too much depressed at leaving me 
to express an opinion or even a wish in the matter. 
She assented listlessly to whatever arrangements 
her parents made without interest or heart in the 
proceedings.” 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS. 


m 


XIII. 

“ O IX weeks dragged by after the departure of 
the Hargraves,” continued Mr. Crompton — 
“ weeks made miserable by an aching heart, not- 
withstanding the gay company around me. My 
only pleasure I found in writing long and very 
sentimental letters to the simple little girl in far 
off Wisconsin, and in reading over and over her 
painful efforts at composition. But how long it 
took to get a letter out there and back — nearly 
two weeks at that time. Throughout the first 
month, however, my ardor never faltered. As 
regularly as the day came around I penned my 
thoughts to Rachel — warm heart thoughts, asking 
always a thousand questions that I knew, or 
should have known, she would never find the time 
to answer, so slow and tedious was the labor of 
the pen to her. But toward the end of the second 
month my enthusiasm was less buoyant than at 
first — not that I cared for Rachel less, but be- 
cause I found it monotonous writing six letters to 
one in return, and because also the time occupied 
in transit was dampening the fires of the senti- 
ment within me. Uncle John studied me and my 
movements like the philosopher that he was. 
When it seemed to him safe to mention to me a 


154 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS. 


plan he had in view — so safe that I would not re- 
fuse point blank to carry out his wishes, he called 
me into his library one morning, and said : 

“ ‘ Wilson, how would you like to make a hur- 
ried trip to Europe for me ?’ 

“ ‘ I go to Europe?’ I exclaimed, surprised. 

“ ‘Yes,’ returned Uncle John, watching my face 
and toying with his glasses carelessly. “ I have 
an interest in a property in London that I want 
looked into. The reports received from there are 
not as clear to me as I could wish. It is possible 
that something crooked is going on.’ 

“ ‘ But have I the necessary experience to repre- 
sent you satisfactorily ? ’ I asked, forgetting every- 
thing except Uncle John’s interests. 

“‘Yes; with instructions I will give you, you 
can do as well as any one, and besides it will give 
you a chance to show me what sort of a business 
man you are going to make.’ 

“‘Very well, I will go then,’ I said ; ‘ for my ob- 
ject, of course, is to make myself as useful to you 
as possible. When shall I sail?’ 

“ ‘ The first week in May,’ he replied, his eyes 
dancing with satisfaction at his own cunning de- 
vice to further the scheme on which he had set his 
heart. 

“ ‘ I shall be ready,’ I answered, my mind revert- 
ing suddenly to Wisconsin and the little girl 
whose heart held mine. ‘ But how long shall 1 
have to be away?’ 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS. 


155 


Oh, only a few weeks,’ he replied, a trifle un- 
easy as he noted the sudden change in my manner. 

Only a few weeks ?’ I repeated, with downcast 
eyes. ‘ Well, I will go, for I said I would, and be- 
cause your interests are my interests. But of course 
you understand, Uncle John, that I would nnuch 
rather go West.’ 

“ ‘Yes, I realize that,’ he replied, gravely, and, I 
think, with genuine sympathy for me. Poor old 
man, his heart must have ached secretly at the 
deceit he was practicing, even though it was for 
my good. 

She already seems so far away,’ I sighed, ‘ and 
now to think of adding three thousand miles more 
— to be separated by the Atlantic Ocean — she in 
the wilderness of America, I on the continent of 
Europe.’ 

“ ‘ I am sorry for you, Wilson, my boy,’ said 
Uncle John. ‘ I was young myself once, and know 
pretty well how you feel. But really there is no 
apparent reason why this trip to Europe should 
delay your seeing Miss Hargrave. I had not 
planned to let you go to Wisconsin before fall.’ 

Yes, I suppose you are right,’ I answered, list- 
lessly, not then laying any stress on the words ap- 
parent reason^ which my uncle used. 

“ Thus it came about that I was sent to Europe, 
as I supposed, to serve Uncle John’s interests, 
when really I had been packed off for my own 
good and on a mere pretense. A day or two be- 


156 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS. 


fore I sailed I learned that Mr. David Rathbon, 
his wife and daughter, were to go on the same 
steamer with me.” 

“ Grandfather Rathbon ? ” exclaimed Miss 
Crompton. 

“Yes, your grandfather Rathbon, and Uncle 
John told me of the fact with seeming surprise.” 

“ When he really arranged that you and they 
should go together, I suppose ?” said Miss Cromp- 
ton. “ What an old fraud he was.” 

“ But the very best kind of a fraud, though, as 
time has proved,” replied Mr. Crompton. 

“ And this was how you met my mother ? ” 

“ Oh, no ; I had known her slightly, as her par- 
ents and Uncle John were on very friendly terms ; 
yet we had not been thrown together much, as she 
was still at school when I went to Woodville the 
year previous. But now she was a young woman 
of fine figure, tall and graceful. Her face was 
handsome, her conversation bright and interesting. 
Altogether, one could hardly wish to be on ship- 
board with a more charming companion.” 

“ Mother must have been very pretty then,” re- 
marked Miss Crompton, sadly. 

“ Yes,” returned the father, drawing his daughter 
closer to him and speaking with a husky voice : 
“ she was very pretty, and a lady of finest breed- 
ing. But I will proceed. To my surprise again, 
I found on going on board the steamer that by 
another accident my stateroom adjoined those of 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS. 


157 


the Rathbons. But Uncle John’s hand in the 
arrangements did not even now suggest itself to 
me — so cleverly did he simulate surprise and ex- 
press delight at the freak of fate that placed me in 
such good company. 

“ And in Mr. and Mrs. Rathbon Uncle John had 
able lieutenants, for they, too, were in league with 
him, to break up my infatuation for Rachel Har- 
grave. Your mother, however, was as innocent as 
I of the scheme of these older heads. Had either 
of us suspected the true purpose of our associa- 
tion, I am sure we should have been very dis- 
agreeable to each other.” 

“ I am so glad you didn’t know, then,” exclaimed 
Miss Crompton, enthusiastically. 

“ Why so ? ” asked Mr. Crompton. 

“ Because, do you suppose I would have wanted 
my mother to be the dumpy, ignorant little 
woman you have pictured Miss Hargrave ? ” 

“ But for Uncle John’s clever management, 
however, she would have been,” replied Mr. 
Crompton, shrugging his shoulders expressively. 
“ As it so happened,” he continued, “ there were 
none but the Rathbons on the steamer whom I 
had ever met before. The result was that Miss 
Rathbon and myself were much of the time to- 
gether, walking on deck or sitting in our steamer 
chairs chatting in some quiet corner. On one 
pretext and another her father and mother skill- 
fully avoided being too much with us, walking 


158 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS. 


usually by themselves or lounging in the saloon. 
By the end of the third day out Miss Rathbon 
and I had become well acquainted, and were al- 
ready very good friends — the first step toward a 
closer union. And now a heavy storm came on, 
pitching and rolling the ship till nearly all on 
board were sick. Miss Rathbon yielded with 
others to Neptune’s call, leaving me quite alone 
and one of the very few who suffered no ill effects 
from the tossing of the waves. The cold rain 
storm and the desolate, almost deserted ship, 
gave me such a feeling of loneliness as I had 
never before experienced. I tried to read and 
could not, my spirits being too much depressed. 
But at length the day wore through, I know not 
how, and the night came on, intensifying the 
gloom. I thought of the previous evening, which 
had passed so pleasantly in Miss Rathbon’s pres- 
ence, and wondered that any one save Rachel 
Hargrave could make such a difference in my 
feelings. Then in reverie I floated to the piny 
regions of Wisconsin and saw a simple kitchen 
scene like the one I first beheld in Woodville, 
with father, .mother and daughter around the 
table — all as in the old time, save the latter, whose 
faced was tinged with sadness — the sadness it 
wore when we last met. How I wished myself 
one of them, and wondered how I had ever con- 
sented to the foreign trip. 

“ But the morning sun rose brightly, and to my 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS. 


159 


great joy Miss Rathbon appeared early on deck, a 
little pale but very pretty — much prettier and 
sweeter for the day’s absence. I went to her with 
greetings more warm, I fear, than one so enamored 
of another should have given. And she seemed 
equally glad to see me after her enforced impris- 
onment. The depression and gloom of the pre- 
ceding day heightened our pleasure at meeting 
again on this sunny, cheerful morning. As we 
walked the deck, filling our lungs with the soft 
invigorating air and chatting with buoyant 
spirits, I could not help feeling that she was 
superior to all the women I had ever met. But 
this was simply a mind thought — not a sentiment 
of the heart — and yet I could not deny that her 
charming manner, her clever conversation, her 
splendid presence, were growing on me day by 
day. I began now to study her characteristics, to 
fathom her thoughts, to test her knowledge — all 
perhaps from curiosity — but for the time centering 
my thoughts upon her, robbing by just so much 
the one to whom my heart and life were plighted. 
It became impossible to refrain from comparing 
the merits of Miss Rathbon with the defects of 
Miss Hargrave. I could not see the* one without 
beholding the other, contrasted as they were in 
figure, features, intellect, breadth of thought, cul- 
ture, dress, refinement of manner, elegance of 
bearing — in short, in everything. And how 
severely my ingenuity was tested in apologizing 


i6o 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS. 


for the one I loved, for on every point that sug- 
gested itself to my imagination I found her in- 
ferior to the rare young woman before me. Not- 
withstanding this my heart was still true to sim- 
ple Rachel Hargrave, who in my eyes, with all her 
blemishes, was more than this beautiful girl made 
more beautiful with culture and refinement. 

“ These were my feelings on less than a week’s 
intimate acquaintance. Could Uncle John have 
been a spectator and read me secretly — noted my 
increasing desire to be with Miss Rathbon and 
my uneasy, restless manner in her absence — he 
would have glowed with enthusiasm over the sat- 
isfactory progress I was making in the way he had 
planned. 

“ But time slipped by and we were in London, I 
with rooms in the same hotel. My instructions 
relating to my uncle’s business were rather indefi- 
nite — so much so that I did not know what to do. 
After thinking a good deal, however, and talking 
the situation over with Mr. Rathbon, I decided on 
his advice to write Uncle John that I must know 
better what he wished of me before making any 
move. The letter posted, I had nothing to do but 
to enjoy myself for the next few weeks, pending a 
reply. Mr. Rathbon suggested that we all run 
over to Paris for a little stay. I agreed to the pro- 
posal and we were off, arriving in good time after 
a great shaking up on the English Channel. 
Sightseeing was now the order of the day, and I 



‘‘I COULD NOT HELP FEELING THAT SHE WAS SUPERIOR 
TO ALL THE WOMEN I EVER MET.” — SEE PAGE 159. 





A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS. 


i6i 


became much interested in the gay life about me. 
In the three weeks that we spent in Paris I wrote 
only two letters to Rachel Hargrave, thinking, 
honestly, too, that I did not have the time. No 
other cause for the change in me was suggested to 
my mind, and had it been I would have repudi- 
ated the idea as a gross insult to my honesty, for 
I believed my heart as loyal and true to her as 
ever. That time is the subject of will did not oc- 
cur to me. I was sincere in the fallacy that I was 
too busy to send a daily letter to Wisconsin. And, 
moreover, it was now fully six weeks since a line 
had reached me from there — a good excuse, I ar- 
gued, for not writing so often, aiming to justify 
myself in my present course. 

“ But I had a mean feeling that Miss Hargrave 
would grieve at not hearing from me more fre- 
quently. Here the thought came in my mind that 
she would perhaps think I cared less for her than 
formerly. This hurt me ; for I felt sure that I loved 
her as dearly as ever. I argued the question with 
myself to see if there was any possible cause to sus- 
pect that I did not. The verdict was satisfactory, 
and I concluded that she would be very unjust to 
think anything of the kind of me ; and yet I felt 
sorry for her, wishing sincerely, as I thought, that 
I could find the time to write as often as formerly. 
But this desired opportunity did not force itself 
upon me, since every day and every evening were 
spent with Miss Rathbon. There was always some- 


1 62 A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS. 

.thing to see, somewhere to go, and I could not 
properly break up our party by remaining at home 
to write letters. 

“ Two months passed and I was still in 
Europe, kept there on one pretext and another of 
Uncle John’s, based on the belief that I was no 
longer in a hurry to return to America. I am sure 
he would not have insisted on my remaining there 
had he believed me anxious to get home. In fact, 
he knew pretty well from my letters and informa- 
tion received from Mr. Rathbon, that I preferred 
remaining abroad for a number of months 
longer. In one of his letters, therefore, he sug- 
gested that I should do so. I was highly pleased 
at the prospect, and would have been positively 
sad had he called me home, for the law of associa- 
tion had again put in its work on me, operating 
jointly with the law of absence. I could no 
longer deceive myself, if I tried ever so hard, for 
the tall, beautiful young woman beside me had 
won my heart, and I loved her madly. For weeks 
I tried to argue myself into the belief that our re- 
lationship was merely friendly, but at last I 
yielded, realizing then how it had all come about, 
and wondering at my stupidity in not earlier 
recognizing the true nature of my regard for her. 
1 asked myself how it was that I ever came to love 
Rachel Hargrave — short, plain, unlettered, unin- 
teresting. How immeasurably superior Miss 
Rathbon seemed to me — a woman of different de- 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS, 


163 


gree, whom I could worship, and of whom I 
could feel justly proud. No apologies need be 
made for her. She was beyond them — my ideal. 

“ A little less than four months had produced 
this change in me. Uncle John’s clever scheme 
was a perfect success in so far as it applied to me. 
The truth. of his philosophy was beyond question, 
but even now I did not suspect his purpose, for he 
had seemed all the while to favor my marriage 
to Rachel Hargrave. This was shown conclus- 
ively, I argued, in his efforts to help her family to 
a better position. What he would say, then, on 
learning that I no longer loved her, caused me a 
good deal of anxiety. In fact, I did not know-^ but 
that he would be very angry, and the more I 
thought of it the more this belief forced itself 
upon me. I wondered if he would lose faith in 
me and send me away to fight my own battles in 
the world without his aid. That he would do so 
was not at all improbable, but even this view of the 
case had no tendency to rejuvenate my sentiment 
for the little girl in Wisconsin. The fact of the 
matter was that it was dead — died a natural death 
after weeks of anxious effort on my part to keep 
it alive. But it was no use. The fire burned 
low and lower yet. I could see the flame sinking, 
and found myself helpless to add new fuel. Old 
letters, old associations, and thoughts that once 
warmed me — all were gone over, but with no 
effect. The four thousand miles between us con- 


1 64 A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS. 

tributed in no small degree to the final result, and 
were a good second to the more powerful influ- 
ences about me. It mattered not then what 
Uncle John might say — how severe his reprimand 
or penalty, since to keep my promise to Miss Har- 
grave was no longer possible. I had tried to love 
her, and had loved her, but now I did not, and 
could not, and the more I tried the farther I found 
myself from doing so. Love is not subject to the 
will. 

“ To try to love, in obedience to the mind, as a 
matter of duty or policy, usually results in a feel- 
ing directly opposed to the one sought. While I 
fancied that Uncle John would blame me severely, 
and that I should be roundly denounced by Miss 
Hargrave and her friends, I knew that I was not 
at heart blamable, for I had tried honestly to be 
loyal, expecting to keep my promise and make her 
my wife. 

“ But no man can battle successfully with the 
law of association, and hope to win, when the 
circumstances are as marked as they were in my 
case. My anxiety on my own account, however, 
was as nothing in comparison to that felt for Miss 
Hargrave, for I imagined the knowledge that I no 
longer loved her, and that I could never make her 
my wife, would prove a crushing blow. That she 
would blame me there could be no doubt, and I 
knew that I was powerless to vindicate myself in 
her eyes in any degree. Our association had 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS, 165 

been such that I shrank from telling her the 
truth — shrank from the feeling that she would 
hate me. To be blunt seemed cruel and lacking 
in art. I therefore sought to suggest, faintly at 
first, my lack of interest in her by writing shorter 
and cooler letters, by hinting at my prolonged 
stay abroad, and by failing to say anything that 
could in any way tend to warm the current of sen- 
timent. By this means I hoped to prepare her 
gradually for the information that must reach her 
sooner or later. And as time went on I began to 
feel that this plan was working well, as her replies 
were less sentimental, had less of the heart touch of 
her earlier letters. This, I fondly assured myself, 
was due to my own cleverness, not realizing then 
that the law of association, which had so changed 
me, had borne with equal force on her — with 
greater potency, even, for she was the only mar- 
riageable girl in Pine River Falls — the idolized of 
all the town. But one rarely sees others as he sees 
himself. I understood my own case, and knew 
that circumstances had brought about the change. 
It did not occur to me that her constant associa- 
tion with other men than myself could ever change 
her heart. The agony I suffered, therefore, for the 
poor girl was quite enough to break the constitu- 
tion of one less hardy than myself. I grew thin 
and colorless, my bones were accentuated, and the 
elasticity natural to me was gone, I thought, for- 
ever. This being engaged to one girl — an inferior 


i66 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS. 


being — and madly in love with another, one that I 
fairly worshiped, was a strain upon my nerves 
that threatened to upset me and make me a youth- 
ful wreck.” 

Mr. Crompton here arose, went to his desk and 
from a lot of papers carefully tied up in a leather 
pouch selected one. 

“ Imagine my relief,” he continued, returning to 
his chair, “ on receiving this letter. You may read 
it,” he said, handing it to his daughter. “ Other- 
wise you could not understand so well the contrast 
between this young woman and your mother.” 

I have secured, through the kindness of a friend, 
a verbatim copy of this letter, which I append. 

pine River falls Wis. Sept 27 

Mr. Crompton i take my pen in hand to rite you and let you no I 
am well and hop you air enjoyin the same Great Blessin. i have 
something that i must say to you and i don’t want to say It for i no 
It will make you feel bad, and you have bin so Good to me i hate to 
mak You feel bad buti cant Reap It to myselfe No Longer for if i 
do It will kill me i no. i can’t bare to think You will hate me for i 
have broke My Promis to you and allowed Sam Hubbard he Reaps 
a Grocery Store hear to fall In Love with me i no You will think It 
horid and will say i am a meen girl when i promist to b« Your Wife 
and Love You and no one Else but Sam boarded with us and was 
jest as good as He could be and He had the only Store hear and dun 
a awful Good trade and Rept a Teem and askt me to ride with Him 
but i wouldn’t Go not at first and he felt Awful Bad and seamed to 
think i Was Stuck up and to prowd to ride with Him and Mother 
said I Should Go or Sam would Leave us and we Wanted him to Stay 
for Mother said it was a Good Thing to have A Merchant board 
with us so this Is the way i happened to go to Ride with Sam and he 
had such a nice hors and was so good i couldnt Help likin Him but 
didnt think i would care No More for Him than anybody else and i 
went to ride with Him again pretty soon and he used to bring Home 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS. 167 

a lot of nice Tilings from his Store and we played Checkers together 
and i ust to sing to Him and play on the Banjoe You Give me and 
He was just crazy over my singin and playing so you see we was To- 
gether a good deal and i didnt mean No Harm for i aint disonest at 
my hart and dont Intend Never to do anything Rong but Sam was 
so Kind and You wus so Fur Away why before i new it we Sam and 
i was in Love with Each other and when i found it out i felt awful 
bad for i liked You so much and thot how You would feal and what 
You would say about me i was pretty near sick for i didnt no what 
to do i wanted to be Lawyal to you and Keep my Promis and hear 
was Sam all the while sayin Love things to me and making Himself 
so Agreeable that i was jest crazy thinkin what i should do and then 
Sam threatened to sell out His Store and leave tounand Actuly hinted 
at Suisid if i didiu Give Him Some Encouragement so what was i to 
do i couldnt allow myself to be the meens of drivin Sam to take His 
Life or sell out His Business fur it was a good Business and paid 
splendid and we all liked Sam and couldnt think of seeing no Harm 
come to Him wal i talked with Sam about it when i couldnt Keep in 
no longer and had a Good Cry He was jest as good as He could be 
about it and said He felt Sorry for me but was Sure He Loved me 
Better than You i said i was Sure You loved me jest as much as any 
one could for You have told me so a lots of times, haint you but Sam 
Says He Knew that nobody Else could ever love me as Much as what 
He did He says that you was away off their in Urop where a lot of girls 
air and i was the only one in this whole Place so he thot it stood to 
Reason that You couldnt Love me the way He did and then You no 
Mr. Crompton You did not Rite me not near so often as what You 
did and when i thot of this i says to myself prhaps Sam is Wright 
after all and You have found somebody Else you like jest as Much as 
me. it made me feal awful bad to think You could do so but Sam put 
it into my Head and i couldnt get it out noway, and so You see I have 
been in a Stue between You and Sam and He is determined to Have 
me anyway so You see i thot i had better rite to You and tell You all 
about it for i cant stand this Thing no longer Be You mad with me 
now fur saying what i have Said if you air i am awful Sory for i hate 
to have You feal bad i want You to tell me jest what to do for i mean to 
be onest with You and will do as you say tho i do wish their was Some 
Way to Save poor Sam for i am awful frade He will do something 
Desprate and He is so good and is so well Liked by Everybody You 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS. 


1 68 

see it is pretty Hard for me and i no You will tell me what to Do and i 
will Do it now You wont think i am meen will You and dont you feal 
bad About me if You like somebody Else Better than me for I do 
like Sam tho I never intended to Do So but You see i got to loving 
Him before i new it i was with Him so much and then it was to late 
as Sam says himself Now i want you to rite me rite away for i cant 
stand this straingn and then Sam is at me all the time for an answer 
sayin he cant stand it either, i wont send no love in this Letter cause 
I am frade you wont want no more of my love after readin what i 
have rote to You but i am Your Friend and will do as You say. 

Rachel Hargrave. 

p s now rite rite away wont You for i want to hear from You Awful 
bad. R. H. 

p s don’t hate me will you for i didnt mean to love Sam and it come 
on me before i knew It. R. H. 

“ Well, you did make a lucky escape,” exclaimed 
Miss Crompton, on finishing this remarkable let- 
ter. “ How you could ever have cared for such a 
woman is a mystery to me.” 

“ A mystery to any one, viewed in the light of 
reason,” replied Mr. Crompton ; “ but not so to 
those who know the law of association, which is a 
much greater force with young people in love 
matters than reason.” 

“ But she was so illiterate — so far beneath you,” 
returned the daughter. 

‘‘ The same law, however, holds good when the 
reason is inoperative,” said her father. “ And it 
would have resulted in my marrying Miss Har- 
grave but for Uncle John’s extraordinarily clever 
plan of preventing it. You can be sure I lost no 
time in writing her and giving her a release from 
her promise. I told her, and truthfully, too, that 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS. 


169 


her letter was of course an utter surprise, but that 
it would seem unwise to continue our engagement 
under the present conditions. I therefore waived 
all claims, wishing her and Sam Hubbard a full 
measure of happiness. I assured her that she still 
had my friendship, and that I cherished no bitter 
feelings toward her. 

“ This let me out very easily, and it seemed to 
me on reflection unnecessary to state that I had 
suffered a like torture of mind with herself. I 
then wrote to Uncle John, giving the substance of 
her letter, and praying that he would not dis- 
charge Mr. Hargrave from his employ, as I feared 
he would. I went further, and told him of my 
admiration for Miss Rathbon, and assured him 
that I had not suffered from a broken heart be- 
cause of Miss Hargrave’s acknowledged love for 
another, as I myself was in a similar state of heart 
affection. 

“ ‘ I never was so happy in my life,’ wrote 
Uncle John in reply. ‘ It has turned out just as I 
expected, just as I planned that it should. The 
truth of my philosophy is established beyond 
question. When I went to Woodville and found 
you in love with Miss Hargrave I was disgusted, 
and felt like going home and leaving you to shift 
for yourself. And then it occurred to me that I 
was responsible for the whole thing in allowing 
you to go there, so I determined to save you at 
any cost. I felt like telling you plainly what I 


70 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS. 


thought of your folly, but instead smiled and let 
you infer from my manner that I approved your 
determination to marry the girl. To effect my 
purpose I saw that you must be separated. I 
therefore bribed the doctor to advise that you be 
sent to New York. But you were madly in love, 
and I soon saw that a deeper plot must be put in 
operation ; so on the pretext of helping the Har- 
graves I sent them to Wisconsin, where women 
are scarce and men plentiful. In this move I 
foresaw just what has happened. But the dis- 
tance between Wisconsin and New York was not 
enough to guarantee the success of my plan, so it 
became necessary that you should go to Europe, 
and I took good care that you went in agreeable 
company — with so sweet a young lady that you 
could not fail to admire her when once away 
from America and the influences that centered 
your thoughts on Miss Hargrave. Well, as I said 
before, it has come out all right, and I am happy, 
and glad that you are happy. You could not love 
a more worthy girl than Miss Rathbon. A marri- 
age with her would gratify me beyond measure 
and result, I believe, in a happy life for you.’ 

“ This is the end of my story, Lela,” said Mr. 
Crompton. “You can see the effect of Uncle John’s 
g^od sense in my love affairs, and can estimate 
how different my life has been from what it would 
have been had he not interfered with my plans. I 
have repeated this romance for your benefit to 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS. 


171 

show you the possibility of your loving another 
equally as well as you do Van Gilding — some one 
more worthy of you.” 

“ Oh, but the circumstances are so different, 
father,” pleaded the daughter. “ Your case was an 
extreme one, utterly unnatural.” 

“ Equally natural with your own,” returned the 
father, disappointed at the failure of what he be- 
lieved would prove a convincing argument. “ It 
is all a question of association. You think you 
could not love any one but Van Gilding, while I 
am certain you could under favorable conditions.” 

“ And I am sure I could not,” replied Miss 
Crompton, with more decision. “ If you refuse to 
allow us to become engaged, why, I must submit; 
but as for acknowledging that I could love an- 
other, I will not, for I know it would be impos- 
sible.” 

“ My experience and observation count for 
nothing with you, then ?” 

“ No, nothing in this matter, for I am sure you 
do not understand me, or you could not speak of 
it in such a cold, business-like way.” 

“ I speak simply in a sensible way — say what I 
know to be a fact. Love is as transferable as real 
estate.” 

“ Oh, what a horrible statement — fairly makes 
me shudder,” exclaimed Miss Crompton. 

“ Horrible, perhaps, without some explanation, 
but nevertheless true. I said it in this sense, that 


172 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS. 


the transfer of each alike depends upon certain 
conditions. Real estate never changes hands except 
for cause ; so, too, the sentiment of the heart can- 
not be transferred without some law bearing upon 
it. I hold, however, that there are combinations 
so strong that it is impossible to withstand them. 
I have felt the effect in my own case, and can 
easily imagine conditions a thousand times harder 
to resist. You may some time find yourself where 
you can understand the force of my reasoning. It 
is plain to you now as applied to myself or as one 
might apply it to others, but when it bears on your- 
self you are blind to what ought to be perfectly 
plain to you. 

“ I have said all that is necessary,” continued 
Mr. Crompton, yielding after having exhausted all 
argument, “ and shall no longer oppose your en- 
gagement to Van Gilding. To do so would, I am 
convinced, make you unhappy, and since he has 
commenced work I am more hopeful of his future.” 


A TMAGEDY OF ERRORS. 


173 


XIV. 



HE following day after Bainbridge’s unfortu- 


^ nate meeting with Van Gilding in Migzer’s 
office, he sought his mail with anxious interest. 
Somehow or other the impression had fastened 
itself upon him that Migzer would not send the 
advertising contracts as he had promised. This 
idea gained credence from the fact of Van Gild- 
ing’s association with the advertising agent, and 
Bainbridge had no doubt that his old college 
enemy would injure him if possible. Then he 
speculated on the relationship between Van Gild- 
ing and Migzer, and recalled the strange nervous- 
ness of the latter on discovering the feeling mani- 
fested at the introduction. 

“ Can it be that Van Gilding is connected with 
him, I wonder ?” mused Bainbridge. “ If so, there 
is little hope of any favors from that agency.” 

The day went by and no communication was 
received from Migzer’s office. 

“ This is a serious disappointment to me, Gog- 
gins,” said Bainbridge. “ These are fine adver- 
tisements, that would give character to the paper 
and would bring in quite a little revenue.” 

“ I am disappointed, too, and very sorry,” re- 
turned Goggins ; “ but I am not altogether sur- 


174 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS. 


prised to feel the effect of Van Gilding’s malice. 
You know I hinted at the probability of some- 
thing of the sort.” 

“Yes, I remember it, but I wish it might have 
come later, or when I am stronger financially and 
better prepared to meet him on his own ground.” 

“ I wish so too ; but since fate has willed it 
otherwise, we must meet the issue, that is all.” 

“ Certainly we must, and as a matter of consola- 
tion I shall try to think that these little' disap- 
pointments are perhaps necessary to prepare me 
for the larger ones that are pretty sure to come — 
to give me sufficient strength to meet them suc- 
cessfully.” 

“ A good way to look at it, Bain,” said Goggins. 
“ You are nothing if not philosophic, old man. 
But between you and me, if this Migzer is the sort 
of man to go back on his promise in this way, 
then Van Gilding isn’t in the best of company.” 

Ten days later and the first issue of Breeze was 
put upon the market. Bainbridge and Goggins 
were present when the first copy came from the 
press. How eagerly they sought it, scanning the 
handsome pages with excited pride. This was an 
important epoch in the career of Bainbridge — an 
event to stir the blood of young ambition. He 
had staked everything upon it. Realizing this, it 
is only natural that his anxiety should have been 
intense on beholding a complete copy of the 
paper — the tangible realization of his conception. 


A TRACED V OF ERRORS. 


175 


In the sheet before him — clean, bright, pleasing to 
the eye — he saw the focus of his thoughts and 
labors — the first born, that would make him 
happy or plunge him into misfortune. 

This was Bainbridge’s first bid for public favor, 
alike in business and literary effort, as he had 
never written until now for publication save in 
college journals. He must be judged, now, 
therefore, both for his business capacity and his 
merit as a literary man, as he had himself edited his 
paper and written a large proportion of the copy. 
Nothing was passed without his personal super- 
vision and revision — not even the manuscripts of 
Goggins. Men strongly backed by capital can 
recover from trivial mistakes — can experiment, 
change, and improve, to meet public taste more 
fully. But the meager capital of Bainbridge 
would not admit of this. He realized that he 
must make a favorable impression at once, or his 
undertaking would prove hopeless. The nervous 
anxiety, therefore, with which he watched the re- 
ception of the first issue could not be well imag- 
ined. Nearly the entire edition was turned over 
to the News Company, to be placed by them on 
the leading news stands in all the important 
towns of the country. The paper was so neat and 
so well illustrated that it commended itself to 
news dealers, and they gave it a generous display 
on their stands, something that is not always done 
with new papers. This was an encouraging sign. 


176 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS. 


A sample of the new journal was also sent to all 
the important newspapers for notice and com- 
ment. Here is the first notice that Bainbridge 
saw. It was in the columns of the Sun, and it 
filled his soul with rejoicing : 

Breeze is tlie name of a publication wliicli has just been brought 
out. It is published by Livingston Bainbridge, and is a clean and 
brisk novelty in illustrated weeklies. Its neat pages show taste, 
nerve, and force. A cheerful vein of philosophy, a graceful wit and 
a quick sense of the picturesque direct its policy. It is bound to 
make a go. 

“ Splendid, Bain ! ” exclaimed Goggins, grasp- 
ing his friend’s hand and congratulating him with 
hearty enthusiasm. 

“ It is good,” returned Bainbridge, delighted. 
“ I certainly did not expect such a flattering 
notice.” 

“ Neither did I, old man, though I thought my- 
self that the paper was mighty clever.” 

“ Bound to make a go,” repeated Bainbridge to 
himself, lingering on these words, which fairly in- 
toxicated him. 

“ Yes, it says bound to make a go, and that’s 
the best of all, Bain.” 

“Yes, that’s all I ask,” returned Bainbridge, his 
face flushed with excitement. “ And this notice 
certainly makes it look more hopeful.” 

The next mail brought in the following com- 
ment from the Advertiser : 

It takes a bold man to start a new weekly periodical nowadays, 
but this is just what Mr. Livingston Bainbridge has done. The 
name of his publication is Breeze. It is issued in New York, and is 
a breezy sheet, clean, clever, and humorous. 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS. 


177 


“ This speaks well for the paper, too, Bain,” 
said Goggins. 

“Yes,” returned Bainbridge, whose face showed 
slight disappointment. “ I would much rather see 
predictions of success, however, than to read 
praise of the paper.” 

“ But to praise the paper is to suggest success,” 
answered Goggins. 

“ In a way, yes, though the notice as a whole, 
saying it takes a bold man to start a paper nowa- 
days, gives the impression that the venture is a 
hazardous one.” 

“ But you went into it with that idea.” 

“ So I did, and if I had read this notice first 
I doubt if I should have been disappointed. But 
the Sun said the paper was sure to go, and this 
notice suggests a very broad doubt.” 

“ Ah, here is another notice in the Herald^'' ex- 
claimed Goggins. 

“ Is there?” said Bainbridge, hurrying to Gog- 
gins’s side that both might read it at one time. It 
ran as follows : 

There are about two thousand publications of one kind and an- 
other started every year in the United States, and of tliis number 
fully fifteen hundred find an early grave — some of them not living 
more than a very few weeks. The latest journalistic enterprise that 
has come before our notice is the issuing of a publication called 
B7-eeze. Livingston Bainbridge, its editor and publislier, we under- 
stand, is a young man. Judging from its contents, it is safe to pre- 
sume that he has good literary taste, for the publication is certainly 
clever. But it takes something more than bright pages to make a 
weekly periodical live. It requires money, energy, and splendid 
business qualities. If Mr. Bainbridge has these he may succeed, but 
even with them the chances are against him, for it is a most difficult 
thing to compete with old established houses. 


178 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS. 


“ The same old story," said Bainbridge when 
he had read it through, a trifle down hearted, 
nevertheless. 

“ Yes, and when one paper says it is sure to 
make a go and another intimates failure, what do 
such predictions amount to, any way ? ” replied 
Goggins. 

“ Very little, I imagine. The paper is started, 
and we are here to win without regard to dubious 
predictions,” returned Bainbridge, somewhat dis- 
gusted, but looking also very determined. 


A TRACED y OF ERRORS, 


179 


XV. 

T T was now a little more than two weeks since 
^ Van Gilding first met Theodore Migzer, and 
in this time he had grown to like him im- 
mensely. The liberality and genial manner of the 
man were irresistible. The dash with which 
he conducted business and the boldness of his 
operations were alike captivating. Money mak- 
ing seemingly was as simple to him as a sum 
in addition to an ordinary man. He was mag- 
netic, so much so that Van Gilding, to his own 
surprise, found more pleasure in remaining down 
town in his office than in spending his time as 
formerly. The spirit of speculation began to work 
within him, and he sought advice from Migzer, 
who had very carefully refrained from speaking first 
on the subject, but who, nevertheless, expected the 
matter would come up for consideration. 

“ I always hesitate about advising any one to 
speculate,” he replied, “ but am willing to show 
you my profits for the last week. Here is the 
statement — four thousand two hundred and seventy 
one dollars and twelve cents, after paying all com- 
missions and interest.” 

“ And you made all this in one week ?” asked 
Van Gilding, his eyes dwelling on the figures. 


i8o 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS. 


“ Yes, just a little flier, you know — nothing to 
do with my business here — a mere side show.” 

“ A pretty good flier, I should say — at the rate 
of over two hundred thousand dollars a year, all 
the same.” 

“ Yes, it helps out on expenses,” returned Migzer, 
as if it w^ere a trivial sum. 

“ I should think it would,” said Van Gilding. 
“ And I believe I am not so opposed to business 
but that I would like to conduct a little side show, 
as you call it.” 

“As I said before, I never advise any one to 
speculate — a matter of principle with me, you 
know — but if you decide that you want to do so 
you will find me always ready to assist you.” 

“You are very kind, indeed, Mr. Migzer. I am 
already sufficiently interested in the matter to take 
you at your word, and try my hand with your ad- 
vice at making money for myself.” 

“ There is a lot of pleasure in it, you will find.” 

“I am beginning to think so. And now about 
a flier on wheat — what would you advise me to 
do ? ” 

“ I shall buy today, and I suppose the best advice 
I can give you is to tell you what I propose doing 
myself.” 

“ Naturally it would be,” returned Van Gilding ; 
“ and if agreeable to you I will join you in the 
speculation.” 

“ Perfectly agreeable,” said Migzer. 


“I will 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS. 


i8i 


order my broker to buy for us five hundred thou- 
sand bushels — we to own it equally.” 

“ Yes, equally.” 

The wheat was accordingly bought and placed 
to Migzer’s account. Fortunately the market was 
strong and prices advanced, allowing the deal to 
be closed out inside of two days, with a net profit 
of something over twenty four hundred dollars, or 
about twelve hundred dollars each. 

This venture was so successful that Van Gilding 
became infatuated with the idea. Twelve hundred 
dollars — the first money he had ever made, and 
how easily it came ! 

“ There is a lot of fun in business, after all,” 
he said to Milkston, telling the latter of his win- 
nings. 

“ I should think so, when money can be made 
so easily ; but look out. Van, that you do not lose.” 

“ There isn’t much danger of that so long as I 
have Migzer’s advice.” 

“ Evening papers — Advertiser., Mail and Express., 
Telegram !" called out a newsboy. 

“ Give me the Mail and Express P said Milkston, 
“What will you have. Van ?” 

“ The Telegram, I think — has a good deal of 
society news, you know.” 

“ Yes, I believe you are right — largely a matter 
of habit, though, as to the paper we read — ah, what 
is this ? A new journal — Breeze — why, isn’t that 
the name of the publication your classmate — the 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS. 


182 

fellow Migzer introduced to you — was going to 
bring out ?” 

“ Yes, Breeze — I think that is the name. What 
does it say about it?” replied Van Gilding, 
carious. 

“ It is quite a long notice, but I will read it.” 

Breeze is tlie name of a new illustrated weekly issued in this city. 
The first number is now on our taole, and is excellent. Its articles 
on different subjects are well written as well as judicious. Its 
sprightly comments on life in New York are in good taste, and the 
clever illustrations add much to the attractiveness of the handsomely 
printed journal. It is bright, piquant, original, and is bound to suc- 
ceed. The editor and publisher, Mr. Livingston Bainbridge, is, we 
understand, a young man, and a graduate of Yale. But he is evi- 
dently old enough to know something of public taste, else he would 
not have brought out a journal so well calculated to become popular 
with our best people. Breeze is too clever a publication to die young. 

“Well, Van, if that isn’t a royal notice I never 
saw one,” said Milkston, when he had finished 
reading it. 

“Let me see the paper,” replied Van Gilding 
frowning. “ Excellent — well written articles — 
sprightly comments — clever illustrations — bright 
— original — bound to succeed — Bainbridge editor 
and publisher — graduate of Yale — calculated to 
become popular with best people — too clever to 
die young,” he muttered with evident displeasure. 

“ I wonder if I can’t get a copy,” said Milkston, 
anxious to see what Breeze was like. “ You sit 
here, old man, while I run out to the news stand. 
I may find it there.” 

And he found it — almost the first publication his 
eye fell upon. “Two copies of Breeze," said he. 
“ How is it selling?” 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS. 


183 


“ It is going fine for a new paper — had fifteen 
copies — nearly all gone,” replied the newsdealer, 
handing Milkston the change. 

“ Sells well, then — think it will make a go ?” 

“ Looks like it — if it sells like this right along, 
there is no doubt of iti” 

“ Here it is. Van,” said Milkston, returning and 
handing a copy to his friend. “ The newsdealer 
says it is selling splendidly.” 

“Says it is selling!” repeated Van Gilding, 
running his eye over the pages with critical preju- 
dice. 

“ It does look well. Van, for a fact,” said Milks- 
ton. “ Illustrations are neat and clever — nothing 
just like it in the market.” 

“ The pages are small — not much reading on 
them,” remarked Van Gilding, hunting for imper- 
fections. 

“ Yes, but they look bright and readable — so 
many illustrations.” 

“ All small, though — no big, rich pages.” 

“ No, but they tell the story all the same — fun- 
nier, don’t you know, and more interesting than a 
picture of a stone building or an iron bridge, how- 
ever large it is.” 

“ I like the large pictures better, and it costs ten 
cents, too.” 

“Yes, ten cents. There must be a good profit 
on it.” 

“ I should say so, if it has any sale at all.” 


184 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS. 


“ On the whole, Van, I’m a good deal surprised 
to find so clever a publication, after hearing what 
you and Migzer said of this fellow Bainbridge.” 

“ I don’t see anything so clever about it.” 

“ It strikes me that it is clever. There is a vein 
of witty satire running through it that it will take 
with the public.” 

“ You think it will be a success, then ?” said Van 
Gilding, enviously. 

“ Judging from what Migzer said, I suppose that 
will depend altogether upon the backing it has. 
So far as the merit of the paper goes, I think it is 
quite good enough to live.” 

“ But I am pretty certain that this fellow Bain- 
bridge cannot have any backing, and without it I 
cannot see how he can hope to make it go.” 

“ It would be strange if he should, wouldn’t it ?” 

“But there is no chance of it,” replied Van 
Gilding, trying to reason himself into this belief. 
He could not help feeling anxious, fearing that 
by some magical means Bainbridge would make a 
name for himself in New York, outdoing all his 
classmates. 

“Strange and unexpected successes are some'’ 
times won, though. Van,” returned Milkston. 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS. 


185 


XVI. 

NT OW that Bainbridge’s paper had made its ap- 
^ pearance, his hands were full of work. The 
first number represented the thought of months, 
while each of the following issues had to be pro- 
duced in a single week. How time flew ! days 
merging into night with surprising swiftness. 
Literary matter to prepare, illustrations to be 
drawn and engraved, type to be set, electrotypes 
to be made, presswork, binding, circulating — all 
within six working days and all to be under the 
care of one man. And this represented a vast 
amount of thought and labor. Bainbridge was 
his own business manager, his own art critic, his 
own editor, bookkeeper, cashier, advertising 
solicitor and financier. Goggins did not rise to 
the dignity of -being at the head of any depart- 
ment. He was, however, a good all-round assist- 
ant, who did whatever needed doing most. But 
the care and responsibility rested with Bainbridge, 
who gave personal supervision to everything, even 
the slightest details. There is probably no occu- 
pation in which so large a percentage of a man’s 
time is consumed by others, without profit to him- 
self, as in the publishing business. A large class 
of professional writers, of semi literary people. 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS. 


1 86 

of self styled geniuses, of cranks and curious 
individuals, unblushingly inflict themselves and 
their manuscripts on the long suffering editor. 
He is regarded by them, and by many others as 
well, as one whose time belongs to the public, 
and, therefore, they feel free to bore him on any 
subject, however trivial and absurd. 

The old timers learn after a while that little 
satisfaction is to be had from journals long estab- 
lished, whose editors have become hardened and 
unappreciative of genuine merit, such as their con- 
tributions show. They are always on the lookout 
for new publications, and when one appears it is 
immediately flooded with manuscripts — old trav- 
elers, that have been rejected by one and another 
for years, and show the wear and tear of time. 
These literary efforts are often accompanied by 
wordy letters, setting forth the author’s long ex- 
perience and favorable connections with some un- 
heard of rural paper, which out of friendship or 
otherwise has once perhaps published a miserable 
doggerel or a skimpy item of gossip — quite suffi- 
cient in the mind of the egotistical writer to give 
him a place among the literary workers of the 
day. 

And the cranks, and those who fret and per- 
spire with the longing to reform the world, all 
alike see in a new journal a means for making the 
public understand the truth of their philosophy. 
And so with high hopes and sweltering enthusi- 


A 7'RAGED Y OF ERRORS. 


1^7 

asm they fall, in person and by letter, upon the 
unfortunate publisher who as yet remains accessi- 
ble to them, and listens helplessly, patiently, to 
their wild persuasion. 

Bainbridge escaped no less easily than others 
who have entered upon the career he had chosen. 
His mail was heavily swollen with letters and 
prosy manuscripts of no use to him, but which he 
thought, thus early in his career, he must read and 
answer. But this nuisance gradually lessened, as 
he learned what all editors know so well, that the 
waste basket is an important factor in the edi- 
torial sanctum. His hands, however, were more 
than full, for he represented in himself what in a 
well established house would be half a dozen de- 
partments, each of which would have a chief with 
assistants under him. 

To be business manager, art critic, editor, book- 
keeper, cashier, advertising solicitor, and financier 
' — the latter the most difficult and important of all 
' — required a variety of talents such as few men 
possess. Whether Bainbridge had them or not 
was a question yet to be solved. It was not, how- 
ever, a matter of fitness with him. It was one of 
necessity, and necessity is not infrequently the 
source of genius. In whatever move he made ear- 
nestness was always apparent, overcoming to a 
gieat degree the disadvantages under which he 
labored, when compared to the long experienced 
but less interested clerks of other houses. Now 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS. 


1 88 

we see him as an author, writing jokes as if the 
humorous side of life alone was his — producing a 
delicate bit of satire on public men and institu- 
tions, or puncturing the foibles and fads of the day 
in a way to provoke the most uproarious laughter. 
As an editor, selecting from the contributions sent 
him, pruning and polishing, he showed good taste 
and indicated a better knowledge of public fancy 
than one of his years would be expected to pos- 
sess. 

His knowledge of art was necessarily imperfect, 
and well perhaps for his success that it was so, 
since the standard of the people to whom he ex- 
pected to sell his paper was quite different from 
that of the hypercritical artist — always to the last 
degree unpractical, irrational. Bainbridge had the 
good fortune to be free from hobbies. As he said 
himself, he was not publishing a paper to reflect 
his own fancies, but rather to give the public what 
it wanted. And to learn the taste of the people, 
he went to them asking questions of whomsoever he 
met — avoiding always in so far as possible authors 
and artists — for these, he learned, all sooner or later 
fell into ruts that carried them ahead of or else be- 
hind the public and out of sympathy with them. 

Here, again, the poverty of Bainbridge helped 
him, for had he possessed a bank account of many 
thousands an art critic — an art crank, perhaps, 
more correctly speaking — would have been em- 
ployed, filling the paper, at high cost, with strained 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS. 


189 


effects — meaningless to the public eye. But hav- 
ing his drawings made to please the people, as he 
understood their taste, and insisting always upon 
the things he sought, his system resulted in pro- 
ducing a paper so unique and unconventional that 
it was praised on every hand. Nothing in print 
appeals so strongly to the public as good illustra- 
tions, such as they can understand. Strength 
often lies in supposed weakness, and so with Bain- 
bridge in this particular feature of his paper. 

But to one situated as he was, the most important 
duty of all was that of fifianciering. With practi- 
cally no capital, he had launched upon an enter- 
prise that should have been backed by a hundred 
thousand dollars to insure success. Less than a 
thousand was all he had in cash — the balance 
lying within himself — the genius that was his. 
After a solid bank account, the best thing to busi- 
ness men is good credit. To get credit, however, in 
an enterprise such as Bainbridge had embarked in, 
is one of the most difficult undertakings in the 
world. 

“ You view the matter, Mr. Bainbridge, through 
the eyes of enthusiasm,” said James Packard, a 
large paper merchant. “ I look at it in a more 
practical light, knowing so well as I do the his- 
tory of all such ventures. I am here to sell paper, 
and would like to supply you if I could see any 
reasonable probability that you will be able to 
pay me. But the chance that you will make vour 


190 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS. 


publication live — started without capital by a 
young man without experience and without the 
backing of an established house, is the slimmest 
of all slim chances.” 

“Your remarks are hardly encouraging, Mr. 
Packard,” replied Bainbridge, suppressing his 
anxiety and appearing undisturbed. 

“ I realize that they are not,” returned the 
paper merchant, a man of princely fortune ; “ and 
I regret to throw cold water on your warm hopes. 
But as you asked me for credit I could not do 
otherwise than make plain to you my reasoning.” 

“ Frankness is always commendable,” said 
Bainbridge with quiet dignity. “ But discourag- 
ing remarks are not what I seek. They flow in 
from all sources unsolicited.” 

“ And they have no effect upon you?” 

“ No, sir, they have not, otherwise the paper 
would never have been started.” 

“ I judge that you are not easily discouraged, 
then, young man,” replied the merchant, recogniz- 
ing metal in Bainbridge. 

“ I do not believe that I am. There is usually a 
way to accomplish most things that men set their 
hearts upon.” 

“ And you have set your heart on making a suc- 
cess of your undertaking ? ” 

“ Yes, that is about the fact of the case.” 

“ Energy will do a great deal, I know, but the 
publishing business is so hazardous. Why, the 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS. 


191 


shore is strewn with wrecks — on too many of 
which I lost heavily myself through giving credit.” 

“ But there are publishing ventures that suc- 
ceed,” remarked Bainbridge undaunted. 

“ To be sure there are, but it. would be difficult 
to find a publication that has lived, brought out 
by a young man with no more capital than you 
possess.” 

“ But are there none?” 

“ I know of nbne, and do not believe there is 
one.” 

“ Isn’t it time, then, that there should be one?” 
said Bainbridge calmly. 

“ Well, perhaps so ; this is an age of progress. 
But do you want to try the experiment, taking the 
chances of incurring debts that you cannot pay?” 

“ I will not admit that it is an experiment, 
neither would I contemplate incurring obligations 
that I could not meet.” 

“ You are bold, young man, even to audacity.” 

“ Your meaning is hardly clear to me,” said 
Bainbridge, thinking perhaps the merchant spoke 
disparagingly. 

“ I used the word in the sense that you are un- 
usually courageous — not easily discouraged — not 
frightened at difficulties, and this trait is the only 
one that affords me any hope that you will suc- 
ceed, for everything is against you — publishers 
with millions back of them, whom you must 
meet in competition.” 


192 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS. 


“ I realize the force of all you say, Mr. Packard, 
but since seeing how well the paper has been re- 
ceived by press and public alike, I am sure it can 
be made a success. I do not ask for a large line 
of credit at first. Suppose you were to trust me 
to the extent of a thousand dollars — a sum that I 
could surely pay m time by working at m)^ old 
business, were the paper to be stopped — you 
would, I am confident, have no cause to regret do- 
ing so.” 

“No, I would probably not regret it, provided 
one thousand dollars represented the sum total of 
your indebtedness ; but while running your 
account up to this sum with me, debts in other 
directions would grow. The line of credit you 
ask of me, therefore, might help you in getting 
other credit, as is usually the case, till say ten 
thousand dollars represented the total. And sup- 
pose now you were to fail — a most natural sup- 
position — could you reasonably hope to pay dollar 
for dollar, earning the money slowly as a tele- 
graph operator ? ” 

“ Are you not picturing the worst phase of the 
case — attempting to give life to improbabilities?” 
returned Bainbridge. 

“ No ; most certainly no. I am looking at the 
matter as any careful business man should.” 

“ But you assume that certain results wdll follow 
simply because other ventures, seemingly similar, 
have failed.” 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS. 


193 


“ Actually similar — not seemingly so.” 

“ I cannot agree with you ; first, because no 
paper exactly like mine has been started, and sec- 
ond, for the reason that no man of precisely my 
temperament, feelings, energy, courage, and so 
on, has been tried in a publishing venture of this 
sort. So it is impossible to predict, reasoning 
from the past, just what my future will be. Little 
things often turn the scale, you know, and there 
may be little advantages in my favor.” 

“ There is force in what you say, I must admit, 
though really no argument to show why you are 
more likely to succeed than those who, equally 
hopeful with yourself, started their publications 
and failed.” 

“ I did not try to bring out that idea. I simply 
aimed to show that you could not forecast from 
what others have done what I may do.” 

“ But does not your reasoning suggest over 
confidence — I will not say assurance?” 

“ Why not say it if you think it? — for assurance 
in the sense of confidence in myself and the sue-' 
cess of my enterprise is just what I have.” 

“ That is the sense in which I would have used 
the word. I hesitated, however, thinking you 
might take it as uncomplimentary.” 

“ No, I don’t see why I should. I am not fool- 
ishly sensitive. But we are wandering from the 
question at issue.” 

“ Yes, slightly though not unnecessarily so. 


194 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS. 


since if I were to give you credit I must do so 
without regard to precedent, against well estab- 
lished business principles, with no tangible se- 
curity, simply on yourself — the characteristics 
you have that appeal to me.” 

“ I see your motive now in asking so many 
questions about me, the first time we met.” 

“ They seemed unbusiness-like to you, I sup- 
pose?” 

“ Yes, for you made me the subject of discussion 
rather than my proposition to buy paper, which 
struck me as strange.” 

“Well, what you told me of yourself then inter- 
ested me. I have since had your statement veri- 
fied by reports from the commercial agency, 
adding confidence in you to the interest previously 
excited. But this confidence is of a personal 
nature, and does not extend to your business ven- 
ture. It, however, strengthens the hope that you 
will be successful. I can see no reason for giving 
you a line of credit, and yet I think I will do so, 
impelled perhaps by fancy, or influenced by the 
audacious boldness of your undertaking. I cannot 
help admiring your courage, though I have aimed 
to dissuade you from pursuing the course you have 
marked out for yourself, simply because the chance 
of your succeeding is so slight. Notwithstand- 
ing this belief, I will enter your order in my books, 
and keep you supplied with paper for the present, 
relying on you to pay me for the same as soon as 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS. 


195 


you can do so. There is, however, one condition 
to this contract, and that is that you report to me 
every week your financial condition, setting forth 
the prospects of your publication.” 

“ I agree to the condition cheerfully, Mr. Pack- 
ard,” said Bainbridge, warmly, triumphant where 
he had expected failure, ‘and I will keep you fully 
informed so long as I am in your debt.” 

“In extending you this line of credit,” continued 
the merchant, impressively, “ I wish you to feel 
that I am doing a very unusual thing — am acting 
directly in opposition to my judgment. In a pub- 
lishing business, such as you are in, everything 
goes into good ivill^ which, if the paper is disconti- 
nued, is utterly worthless — as intangible as the 
air. Nothing remains for the unfortunate creditor 
to put his hands upon. If I were a dry goods 
merchant I would be better justified in trusting 
one of your character to the extent of twenty 
thousand dollars than I am in allowing you any 
credit in your present venture. The stock of goods 
would be a security in itself, while you have abso- 
lutely nothing. 

“ I say this to show you how favorable an im- 
pression you have made upon me. It will 
strengthen your confidence in your ability to deal 
with men, and help you, I hope, to justify me in 
this instance in following impulse instead of rea- 
son.” 


196 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS. 


XVII. 



AR up on the side of a woody hill on my 


^ father’s farm was a spring of purest water. 
In dry seasons and wet alike it bubbled ever the 
same through a crevice in the solid ledge of gran- 
ite, and, overflowing, formed a tiny stream that 
made its way slowly through the grassy valley 
below. It was the merest brooklet, barely large 
enough to find a channel and hold to it. Yet 
month after month and year after year it wound 
its way over the white pebbles with never failing 
regularity. 

One day it entered into my boyish fancy to dam 
the stream that I might have a sheet of water upon 
which I could sail a boat — a toy affair that I had 
myself constructed. The place chosen for this bit 
of engineering was a point where the valley nar- 
rowed and the banks on either side were steep, 
forming a basin sufficient in size to hold a large 
body of water. But that any great quantity would 
ever accumulate from the diminutive brooklet that 
was to feed it did not occur to me at first. The 
dam I built, therefore, was a frail structure, but 
quite sufficient, it seemed to me, to hold all the 
water that would ever press against it. To my 
surprise, however, at the end of a week I was re- 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS. 


197 


warded by seeing quite a little pond, and I found 
it necessary to strengthen and enlarge the dam. I 
became much interested in my artificial lake, as yet 
very small, but growing slowly. 

Seven months of constant, untiring contribution 
from the little hillside spring had given me a fine, 
large body of water, upon which floated a boat of 
sufficient size to carry me safely. But one day a 
leak appeared in the dam, which was yielding to 
the too great pressure. It was so slight at first 
that I felt no uneasiness, though I aimed to repair 
the damage, and succeeded, as it seemed, for the 
dripping ceased altogether. But in a few days 
another break appeared, which was patched up 
with far greater difficulty. Finally a point near 
the bottom yielded to the strain upon it, letting 
through a small stream perhaps an inch in diam- 
eter. This occurred in the morning, and by noon 
the outflow had grown to four times its former 
size. Minute by minute it increased till towards 
night a body of water as large as the trunk of a 
great tree rushed madly through the break, drain- 
ing my beautiful lake before the darkness closed 
in upon me. 

“My son,” said my father, “ let this teach you a 
lesson, which, if heeded, will prove invaluable to 
you throughout life. The little stream flowing 
from yonder hill fittingly illustrates the philosophy 
of accumulation. By this principle of ceaseless 
application knowledge is obtained and wealth 


198 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS. 


gathered. The nobler elements, too, in man are 
the result of growth, slowly waxing in volume as 
did your lake from a never failing system of 
purity. It would have seemed to you preposte- 
rous to suppose that so large a body of water as 
was accumulated here could come from the little 
crevice in yonder rock. But the constant, untiring 
flow did it — seven months of accumulation, and 
how soon wasted ! — in less than a day. Let this 
illustrate to you, my son, the slow process of rising 
in the world, and how little time a man requires 
to sink into obscurity or disrepute when once he 
yields to evil influences.” 

This illustration made a deep impression on me, 
a boy at the time. I have watched the growth 
and decay of character ever since with keen inte- 
rest, always thinking of my artificial lake made by 
the little mountain brook. It showed me the pos- 
sibilities of application, and taught me how soon 
all could be lost by a fatal defect in character. 
The career of Bainbridge and that of Van Gilding, 
starting from a common point in college, but now 
so widely divergent, again brought to my mind 
the lesson my father impressed with such force 
upon my boyhood fancies. 

In the preceding chapters of this story I have 
narrated incidents, in themselves trivial, but 
which taken collectively show the trend of charac- 
ter alike in Bainbridge and Van Gilding. The 
unmanly treatment of a classmate on discovering 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS. 


199 


him at the telegrapher’s desk, at Shelter Island, 
the yet more uncivil and unappreciative manifesta- 
tions on being rescued from the damaged boat, 
the intimacy with the rapid Milkston and the 
vapid Bigs, the association with ballet girls, the 
gaming table, the extravagant tastes, the abhor- 
rence of honest labor, the haughty pride, the will- 
ingness to deceive the father of the girl whose 
hand he sought, his relations with the crafty, 
scheming Migzer, his entrance into speculation — 
all show the bent of Van Gilding’s character. 
Nine months have elapsed since first he met Mig- 
zer. Within that period the bulwarks of his char- 
acter had, as it were, slowly settled, while leaks 
from various minor breaks weakened his moral 
nature, so that the resisting power was insufficient 
to check the flow of evil tendencies when once 
they had gained headway, growing surprisingly as 
did the fatal breach in the dam of my parable. 

For a time speculation went well with Van 
Gilding, yielding a revenue that warranted him, 
as he thought, in extravagances in which even 
Milkston would not indulge. But fate turned 
upon him after a season of subtle toying and 
pressed him hard with reverses resulting in losses 
that he could ill afford to bear. 

“ The best way out of your difficulties,” said 
Migzer, “ is to win the money back at the same 
game.” 

“ So I thought,” replied Van Gilding dubiously. 


200 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS. 


“ and I have been trying to do so, till now I am 
thirty three thousand dollars behind, and much 
pressed for funds.” 

“Thirty three thousand dollars?” exclaimed 
Migzer, seemingly startled. 

“ Yes,” faltered Van Gilding. 

“ And you are pressed for the money,” said Mig- 
zer, stroking his mustache thoughtfully, and add- 
ing : “ But why not mortgage your real estate } — 
easy enough to raise money on good security.” 

“ But don’t you see, if I were to do so, Cromp- 
ton would find it out?” 

“ H’m, h’m,” mused Migzer, with a world of 
meaning, “ leaves you in a tight fix, I see. But 
you must have friends who would gladly help 
you?” 

“ I don’t know — in fact I don’t like to ask fur- 
ther favors,” returned Van Gilding, with a hopeless 
sigh. 

“ You expect to make up your losses, I suppose, 
by further speculation?” 

“ Yes, I hope to do so.” 

“ But suppose you continue to lose you will soon 
find yourself alarmingly in debt.” 

“ That is what worries me,” replied Van Gilding 
nervously. 

“ The market will go against one sometimes. I 
have seen men lose, lose, lose, and never seem to 
strike it right,” remarked Migzer, thinking it about 
time to counsel caution. 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS. 


201 


“ I certainly think I am unlucky at everything 
— cards, racing, speculating — all go against me.” 

“ You would doubtless be successful in business, 
then — something legitimate.” 

“ I wonder if I would.” 

“ I am confident that you would, and business, 
after all — a good, legitimate business — is so much 
better than speculation.” 

“ I may have to try my hand at it to make up 
these losses.” 

“ It strikes me it would be the best thing you 
could do,” said Migzer, growing enthusiastic over 
the idea. “ I know of a little scheme that would 
bring you out handsomely — give you profit enough 
to pay off this thirty three thousand indebted- 
ness, and leave you as much more in your pocket.” 

“You know of something, you say, in which I 
could make such a profit?” asked Van Gilding, 
eagerly. 

“ Yes, the cleverest scheme I ever saw.” 

“ But wouldn’t it require a lot of money to ope- 
rate it ? ” 

“ No, not a cent.” 

“ Not a cent ! ” exclaimed Van Gilding. 

“ No, no money need be put up — simply a ques- 
tion of security. My credit will furnish the 
capital.” 

“ And are you willing to let me in on it?” 

“ I shall be glad to do so, as I want to help you 
out of this difficulty. Thirty three thousand doll- 


202 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS. 


ars is too big a loss for you to stand without some 
move to get it back.” 

“ A good deal too big a loss — one that would 
make a big hole in my income. But tell me about 
the scheme.” 

“ You see this watch,” replied Migzer, taking 
from a drawer in his desk a small brass instrument 
and handing it to Van Gilding. 

“ A watch ! ” exclaimed the latter. 

“ Yes,” laughed Migzer — “ let me explain. This 
piece is a compass — notice how the indicator points 
in the same direction when I turn the case — a sun 
dial, you see,” 

“ But can you tell the time by it ? ” 

“ Yes, by the aid of the sun.” 

“ Not accurately, though.” 

“ Well, accurately enough for our purpose. 
There is no necessity of discussing its merits too 
closely.” 

“ But I cannot understand how you can call it a 
watch,” replied Van Gilding. 

“ A watch is an instrument for telling the time. 
This is an instrument for telling the time. Is it 
not, then, as much a watch as one of any other 
make ?” 

“ Looking at it in that light, it might be, I sup- 
pose,” admitted Van Gilding, still examining the 
worthless toy. “ But what has this to do with the 
scheme you think will yield such profits?” 

“ Here is the proof of an advertisement,” replied 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS. 


203 


Migzer, “ that I put out ten days ago for Dagwood 
& Company. It is pulling immensely. From three 
papers alone they have had over five hundred re- 
plies up to the present time, and their mail is in- 
creasing daily.” 

“ Five hundred replies means five hundred dol- 
lars, I judge, as the advertisement calls for a 
dollar,” replied Van Gilding, meditating. 

“Yes, five hundred dollars from only three 
papers. Just think of the number of papers there 
are in this country — over fifteen thousand, and 
then compute the possibilities of profit on this 
scheme.” 

“ Stupendous ! ” exclaimed Van Gilding, his 
brain growing hot with rapid reasoning. 

“ Stupendous ! I should say so — the biggest 
scheme I have seen in years, and not much has 
missed my eye.” 

“ Great, isn’t it ? — a clean fortune.” 

“ Yes, a clean fortune, and the beauty of it is it 
can all be cleared up in a few months’ time — a 
profit of — well, I won’t attempt to estimate the 
amount — so large it would seem fabulous.” 

“ Yes, that is so,” replied Van Gilding, follow,- 
ing Migzer’s thought. “ But look here, aren’t 
Dagwood & Company ahead of us — won’t they 
put their advertisement into all the publications 
before we could get ours out ? ” 

“ Trust me for that,” laughed Migzer, his crafty 
cunning well defined in the smile he wore. 


204 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS. 


“ How can you manage it?” asked Van Gilding 
eagerly, already anxious to become a party to the 
scheme. 

“ I can hold their advertising back on one pre- 
text and another ” 

“ But wouldn’t they place it through another 
agent ? ” 

“ No, they would not dare to do so. I have 
them well in my grasp. Feel secure on this 
point, then.” 

“ A paper would have to be got up, though.” 

“ But that could be done in a short time,” re- 
plied Migzer, warming to the discussion. 

“ But this idea of giving away premiums with 
publications is not a new one. I have seen dozens 
of Cheap John sheets put upon the market by 
means of wretched chromos and yet worse litho- 
graphs. Why, the country is full of canvassers on 
such schemes. But these papers never seem to 
live and gain headway.” 

“ Don’t I know all about such ventures ? — been 
bored nearly to death myself by these wretched 
canvassers. But the trouble all lies in the fact 
that the premiums are too common. Nobody 
wants them any more. Why there was a time 
when fortunes were made on the chromo publica- 
tions. But that day is gone forever, thank 
heaven. A watch, however, never grows old — 
never gets out of public favor, and here is just 
where the merit of this scheme lies. I tell you, as 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS. 


205 


I said before, that it is the biggest thing, with a 
bi^ B, that ever fell under my eye. But of course 
it involves a good deal of capital to handle it as it 
should be,” continued Migzer, satisfied that he 
had Van Gilding well in hand. 

“ There is the rub,” replied the other. 

“You must raise thirty three thousand dollars 
immediately ?” 

“Yes, immediately.” 

“What security can you offer?” questioned 
Migzer, knowing Van Gilding’s financial affairs 
all the while. 

“ I have in my own name a piece of real estate 
worth one hundred and twenty five thousand 
dollars. But, as I said before, if I were to 
mortgage this, Crompton would find it out, and 
would want to know what I had done with the 
money.” 

“ It seems to me that it is none of his business 
what you do with your money,” replied Migzer, 
with a gesture designed to increase Van Gilding’s 
dislike for Mr. Crompton. 

“ It isn’t his business, but he is only too ready 
to find some flaw -in me.” 

“ A strange sort of man, I should say.” 

“ The fact is, he doesn’t like me.” 

“ And it was to please him you came down town 
to business,” suggested Migzer, leading Van Gild- 
ing on. 

“ Yes, to please him,” replied the latter, bitterly ; 


2o6 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS. 


“ and but for him I wouldn’t be in this hole now 
— thirty three thousand dollars out of pocket/' 

“ Why not go to him and ask him to give you a 
lift? He is \ ery rich, you know.” 

“ Go to him ! ” exclaimed Van Gilding, yet 
more bitterly. 

“ No, that wouldn’t do, I see,” said Migzer. 
“ He is not the sort of man to extend sympathy to 
you, I judge.” 

“ He would like only too well to know of my 
losses.” 

“ Can it be possible he is so mean as all that ? 
I am afraid you do him injustice, my dear fellow.” 

“ No, no injustice — not a bit. He has been try- 
ing to find something against me, so that the en- 
gagement could be broken.” 

“ He has ! ” exclaimed Migzer incredulously. 

“ I am sure he has.” 

“ But that must not be. You should guard 
every avenue of possible attack.” 

“ That is just what I am trying to do in keeping 
these losses from him.” 

“ Crompton is very rich, I understand, and his 
daughter is the only child ?” 

“ Yes, the only child.” 

“ A fascinating young lady, too — not her equal 
among all my acquaintances. If she were an ordi- 
nary girl, or one of a large family with little 
money, the case would be different. I tell you, 
my dear fellow, when a man marries .a fortune. 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS. 


207 


getting a wife like Miss Crompton, he is in the 
biggest kind of big luck. And then, too, in her 
case there is no mother-in-law, eh, my boy?” 

The more Migzer praised Miss Crompton, the 
more bitter Van Gilding was against her father. 
Thus the wily advertising agent prolonged the 
discussion, working his victim into such a state 
that he would make any sacrifice to shield his 
losses from the public eye. 

“ Couldn’t you raise the money from your 
mother ? ” continued Migzer, after a pause in which 
neither spoke. 

“That would be impossible,” replied Van Gild- 
ing, wiping the perspiration from his brow. “ There 
is only one way for me, and that is to get the money 
myself.” 

“ But your mother of course knows of your 
losses?” said Migzer. 

“ No, she knows nothing of them,” returned Van 
Gilding, with heightened color. 

“ Neither your mother nor sister?” 

“ Neither of them.” 

“But suppose you were to tell them, wouldn’t 
they gladly help you out of this difficulty ?” 

“ I cannot tell them. I would rather make al- 
most any sacrifice than to let them know of my 
losses. As I said before, I must raise the money 
myself. There is no other way.” 

“ Have you no friend who would advance it 
you?” 


2o8 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS. 


“ No ; none who would let me have it without 
security, and then I would not want any friend of 
mine to know of the hole I am in.” 

“ That is so. It would be unfortunate to have 
any one know of it who would tell it all over 
town.” 

“ And I imagine that is just what would be the 
result, even if the matter of security could be ar- 
ranged without mortgaging the property.” 

“ Would your friend Milkston tell of it ? ” 

“ I wouldn’t have Milkston know it for the 
world.” 

“Would he let you have the money without a 
mortgage ?” 

“ No, I am sure he would not, for between you 
and me it is to him I owe part of this thirty three 
thousand dollars, and he seems very anxious to get 
his money back.” 

“And this is the sort of friend Milkston is?” 
said Migzer, accenting the word friend suggest- 
ively. 

“ It seems so,” replied Van Gilding dubiously. 

“ I am surprised at Milkston, and I don’t know 
why I should be, either, since he is one of those 
fellows who don’t care a rap for anything or any- 
body, so long as they are all right themselves. A 
good fellow, you know, as the world has it. But a 
man isn’t known till he is tested. You have tested 
him and found the sort of friendship he has for 
you. With his immense fortune, he could as well 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS. 


209 


as not help you out and never miss the money. 
With me, however, my funds being invested in 
business, it is different. If you only needed a few 
thousand dollars I would provide it for you, as I 
said before. But thirty three thousand is no small 
sum to raise in a hurry. Were it not for Cromp- 
ton, you could place a mortgage on your real es- 
tate.” 

The mention of Mr. Crompton’s name again 
caused Van Gilding’s face to grow darker. 

“ I tell you what it is, my dear fellow,” said 
Migzer. “ You can depend upon me to do all I 
can for you. You shall not say of me, as you 
could of Milkston, that my friendship has no 
warm blood in it. Now the situation is this. It 
is possible I could get your notes discounted for 
the thirty three thousand dollars you must raise, 
if I could show the president of my bank that I 
have good security to back them up. I say it is 
possible merely, for to raise so large a sum of 
money on the notes of one who has no commercial 
rating is no easy matter, I assure you. A mort- 
gage on property is unknown to the public until it 
is recorded. I am willing to help you to the ex- 
tent of trying to raise this money for you, provid- 
ing you will give me a mortgage on your real es- 
tate, with the understanding that I shall not have 
it recorded. Of course the chances are that I 
cannot raise the funds, but I will make as great an 
effort as I ever made in my life to do this favor 


'>.IO 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS. 


for you. I am showing a good deal of faith in you 
in making such a promise, since a mortgage unre- 
corded is not the best sort of security. If, how- 
ever, there is any other way in which you can 
raise the money, I would of course prefer that you 
do so, as this arrangement could not fail to crip- 
ple me at my bank. But I never desert a friend, 
and will not commence now.” 

With profound thanks Van Gilding accepted 
the proposition of Theodore Migzer, giving him 
eleven notes of three thousand dollars each, all 
payable in six weeks. These were secured by 
mortgage on the one hundred and twenty five 
thousand dollar piece of real estate. The notes 
were discounted, and inside of three days the pro- 
ceeds were handed over to Van Gilding, making 
him once more happy. His obligations to Milk- 
ston and others were met, leaving his mind free to 
bend itself to business problems. 

Migzer had by this time grown to be a wonder- 
ful man in Van Gilding’s eyes — a man whose 
capabilities could not easily be measured. He 
trusted him implicitly, feeling that in him he had 
a most generous and unselfish friend. 

The publishing scheme was now pushed with 
the greatest energy. 

“ It is better that you do not appear personally 
in the enterprise, I think,” said Migzer. “ It has 
occurred to me that Crompton might nose around 
and annoy you more or less. If you act on my 


A TRACED Y OF ERRORS. 


21 1 


advice, you yourself will be unknown in the 
scheme. I know of just the man for you — a 
novelty dealer who has sufficient room for hand- 
ling the business, and all the help he would need.” 

“ Of course I will act on your advice,” replied 
Van Gilding. “ I know nothing about the busi- 
ness, any way ; and, as a matter of fact, this 
paper isn’t just the sort I would like to have my 
name connected with.” 

“No; not quite enough tone to it — appeals to 
a class of people with whom you do not associate.” 

“ That is the way it strikes me. But who is the 
man to whom you refer ? ” 

“ Stover — Nate Stover — a good enough fellow in 
his way.” 

“ Oh, I know him — a man about forty five, I 
should say — had a chat with him one day when he 
was waiting to see you.” 

“Yes, the same man, I judge — tall, rather good 
looking.” 

“Yes, and do you know of whom he reminds 
me?” 

“ I am sure I do not.” 

“ Crompton,” replied Van Gilding, seemingly 
soured by the pronunciation of the name. 

“ Now you speak of it, I am inclined to think 
there is a strong resemblance between them. 
Strange the idea didn’t occur to me before, but the 
fact is I don’t often see Crompton — both he and 
myself are busy men, you know.” 


212 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS. 


“ I never saw any one more actively employed 
than you are,” replied Van Gilding, purposely or 
otherwise failing to include Mr. Crompton in the 
compliment. 

“ Well, I like an active life,” said Migzer. 
“ Nothing suits me better. This similarity, by the 
way, between Crompton and Stover will not preju- 
dice you against the latter ? ” 

“ I cannot say that it does not have some influ- 
ence with me, yet I won’t allow myself to be fool- 
ish about the matter, if he is the best man.” 

“ Glad to see you so sensible — best man we could 
get. But now about the point you brought up 
when we were interrupted. You see the difficulty 
in my taking a financial interest in the scheme is 
this : I cannot in justice to my customers do any- 
thing that would bring me into competition with 
them. There is only one way,” continued Migzer 
effusively, “ to do business, and that is to do it 
honestly — to hold firmly to principles, never yield- 
ing, no matter how tempting the reward.” 

“ I see the force of your reasoning,” replied Van 
Gilding, now believing without question anything 
the plausible Migzer said, “and certainly must 
commend you for the position you take when you 
could as well make this money as I.” 

“ I appreciate your good opinion, surely, and 
will aim to reward your faith in me by helping you 
to make in this venture enough money to be quite 
independent of either Milkston or Crompton.” 


A TI^AGEDY OF ERRORS. 


213 


“ I hope so,” replied Van Gilding, his brow cor- 
rugated with thoughts suggested by Migzer’s 
harrowing reference. 

Later in the day Nate Stover, the novelty deal- 
er, was seen and apprised of the scheme. 

“ It is a good one,” said he. “ Will pull enor- 
mous returns.” 

This remark strengthened Van Gilding’s faith 
in the venture — not that it needed bolstering up, 
for he no longer questioned Migzer’s view of the 
tremendous possibilities in the undertaking. 
Stover’s indorsement, however, had the effect of 
increasing his enthusiasm and preparing him more 
fully for entering the well laid trap of the crafty 
advertising agent. 

It was arranged that Stover should conduct the 
publication in his own name, taking full charge of 
the business. The advertising to be placed was to 
be guaranteed by Van Gilding, who, on this ac- 
count, was to have three quarters of the profits of 
the venture — the other quarter to go to Nate 
Stover. 

“What shall the paper be called ?” said Migzer, 
losing no time. 

“ I have been thinking about that,” replied Van 
Gilding, thoughtfully. “ It seems to me that we 
should have something short and snappy — say, 
for instance, Dash' ” 

Dash!" laughed Migzer. “Why, that would 
kill the scheme.” 


214 


A TRACED Y OF ERRORS. 


“ Kill it dead,” added Stover. 

“ I don’t see why,” replied Van Gilding, not 
relishing the fun made of his suggestion. “ There 
are any number of papers with names of similar 
character,” he added, mentioning those most 
familiar. 

“ And Breeze^ too,” suggested Migzer, in a 
mirthful spirit. 

“Well, yes. Breeze., if you please — it seems to 
live,” replied Van Gilding, defending his position. 

“ Strangest thing in the world,” remarked Mig- 
zer, turning the conversation for a minute, “ that 
that fellow Bainbridge should have kept his paper 
up all this time — I can’t understand it — a fellow 
with no money, no experience. It is simply extra- 
ordinary — something unheard of. But to return 
to the point. Your suggestion for a name, my 
dear fellow, is a good one — could not be bettered, 
if the paper were, for instance, of the same char- 
acter as Breeze, but such a publication couldn’t be 
sold for a penny in country towns — no, not for a 
penny.” 

“ And it is on the country trade we must de- 
pend,” remarked Stover, who knew the tastes of 
the rural districts. 

“You see,” continued Migzer, “your life has 
been cast in this city, where you have associated 
only with the best people. You could hardly be 
expected to understand the queer notions of rural 
communities. The name of a paper must mean 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS. 


215 


something to them — must appeal to them. Now, 
I would suggest that the publication be called 
* T/ie Home Journal and Welcome Companion^ How 
does this strike you, Stover?” 

“Just the thing,” replied the latter — “couldn’t 
be beat.” 

“ I am glad my name isn’t to be connected with 
it publicly, then,” said Van Gilding. 

“ Of course it matters not to me what the paper 
is called,” remarked Migzer. “ I suggested a 
name that I am sure will catch ; but if you prefer 
Dashy why, I shall not object.” 

“ I’m sure Mr. Migzer is right about the name,” 
said Stover. 

“ Well, it doesn’t matter to me. If the country- 
men want such a wretched name, why, let them 
have it,” replied Van Gilding, yielding, as usual 
now, to the judgment of Migzer. 


2I6 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS. 


XVIII. 



HE advertisement, when set in fine type, oc- 


^ cupied a space of about six and one half inches 
square. In one corner was a cut of a watch with 
handsomely chased cases, to which a chain of elabo- 
rate design was attached. The sun dial was called a 
time keeper. In no place was the word “ watch ” 
used ; but the handsome engraving of a watch, to- 
gether with the crafty phraseology of the advertise- 
ment, was designed to lead all readers to conclude 
that a genuine watch was offered as a premium with 
a year’s subscription to the Home Journal and 
Welcome Companion. 

“To promise to give a watch and fail to do so,” 
said Migzer, “ might make trouble. But you are 
not responsible for the imagination of others. If 
the public assume that you promise a watch when 
you do not, why that is a matter of theirs and not 
yours.” 

“ Of course, I understand that,” added Stover. 
“ Nobody can hold us for what we don’t agree to 
give.” 

“A pretty sharp point, though,” remarked Van 
Gilding, smiling at the ingenious wording of the 
advertisement. 

“Yes, rather sharp,” returned Migzer ; “but one 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS. 


217 


must be keen nowadays, or he will get grandly 
left. Just a little trick, you know, and tricks lurk 
in every branch of business. Dagwood & Company, 
you see, have phrased their advertisement essenti- 
ally in the same language.” 

“ Yes, just about the same,” assented Stover. 

The next question for consideration,” said 
Migzer, when the advertisement had been ap- 
proved, “ is regarding the number of papers we 
shall use.” 

“You mean the number of papers we shall put 
the advertisement in?” asked Stover. 

“ Yes,” replied Migzer, whose aim was to place 
as many dollars' worth of advertising as possible. 
Under any circumstances this would have been his 
purpose, as he received, on an average, say fifteen 
per cent in commissions, or fifteen thousand dol- 
lars on one hundred thousand. But Migzer at the 
present time had a special cause, as will be revealed 
later, for urging that the advertisement be sent out 
broadcast, since he saw in Van Gilding a victim 
equipped to guarantee the payment of the ac- 
count. 

“ There is a big lot of papers in this country — 
splendid paying papers, too,” said Stover, leading 
up to the point at issue. 

“ About fifteen thousand, I think you said, Mr. 
Migzer,” remarked Van Gilding. 

“ Fifteen thousand, yes ; and I wish we might 
cover every one of them.” 


2I8 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS. 


So do I, for this is a chance of a lifetime — yes, 
of a lifetime,” said Stover, nervous with en- 
thusiasm. 

“Just my idea of it,” added Migzer; “but it 
would cost so much.” 

“But what does that matter?” urged Stover, 
“ Why, the money will all come back inside of 
thirty days.” 

“ Of course it will — come back and a fortune 
with it,” returned Migzer, more magnetic than 
ever. “ But that isn’t the point. The question is, 
how much money Mr. Van Gilding will authorize 
us to spend.” 

“ I thought the plan was to take everything,” re- 
plied the latter. 

“We did speak of it — yes, I remember now,” 
said Migzer. “ But — why, great Caesar, man, your 
mail would astonish the world, it would be so 
large.” 

“ Astonish the world ! ” repeated Van Gilding 
to himself, his old egotism to the front, then add- 
ing in reply : “ Why, that is just what I should like 
to do.” 

“ You would do it fast enough — make the enter- 
prise of your old classmate, Bain bridge, look very 
insignificant,” said Migzer. 

“ And nothing would suit me better than to take 
him down — the conceited upstart ! ” replied Van 
Gilding, touched on a tender spot. 

“ I have heard that he purposes outdoing all his 


A TRACED Y OF ERRORS. 


219 


class ; in fact, it was said to me that he openly 
boasts of doing so,” said Migzer, not hesitating at 
falsehoods. 

“He does — boasts of it, does he?” exclaimed 
Van Gilding, with freshened hatred for Bain- 
bridge. 

“ That is the way I understand it,” returned 
Migzer. “ But let us keep to the point.” 

“ I’m tremendous anxious to see the whole 
country covered,” said Stover. 

“ Of course, what you don’t take will be scooped 
up in a hurry by Dagwood & Company,” returned 
Migzer. 

“And a mean house, too — too mean to be decent 
— not square competitors,” returned Stover. 

“ But they are good for any amount of money 
— would take every paper in the country in a 
minute, if the transaction involved half a million 
dollars,” answered Migzer. 

“ But isn’t Mr. Van Gilding here just as good as 
what they are, I’d like to know?” said Stover, 
effusively. 

“ Why certainly he is — better, many times bet- 
ter, of course. But you didn’t understand me, 
Stover. It is not that I am unwilling to trust Mr. 
Van Gilding, but rather to what extent does he 
wish the advertising put out.” 

“ I didn’t think it would cost as much as five 
hundred thousand to take every paper in the 
United States,” said Van Gilding, a good deal sur- 


220 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS. 


prised at these enormous figures which Stover 
and Migzer used so lightly. 

“ But you see, my dear fellow, this is a big ad- 
vertisement,” replied Migzer. “ If it were a little 
three liner, then the cost would of course be a 
trivial sum. But something for nothing cannot be 
had — not often. You want to put out an adver- 
tisement that will pay big returns. It necessarily 
costs something, but what does that matter so 
long as it all comes back and a fortune with it ?” 

“ That is the way I look at it,” remarked Stover 
— “ a chance of a lifetime, this is, as I said before.” 

“ But five hundred thousand dollars is a big 
fortune,” replied Van Gilding. “I wouldn’t feel 
justified in asking you to place such an amount 
of advertising for me.” 

“ Well, we had better cut off the least desirable 
papers, then,” replied Migzer. “ I dislike doing 
so, for I know that Dagwood & Company will 
scoop everything you leave. It is, you see, now or 
never with you. But for Dagwood & Company 
you could take part of the papers at a time — get- 
ting in the money from the first lot to pay the 
second.” 

“ That is the annoying feature of the scheme,” 
said Van Gilding, “ which makes me feel like get- 
ting the cream at least of all the publications.” 

“ I would urge you to do so by all means,” re- 
turned Migzer. 

“ There is no other way if big money is to be 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS. 


221 


made out of the scheme,” added Stover. “ If it 
isn’t pushed I cannot afford to give my time to it.” 

“ Don’t you worry about that, Sto\ er. I have 
already seen enough of Mr. Van Gilding to know 
that he is not the sort of man to half do a thing,” 
replied Migzer, touching the son of aristocracy on 
his weakest point. 

“ It isn’t a question of policy with me, but one 
of responsibility,” said Van Gilding, showing in 
manner and emphasis of pronunciation the effect 
of Migzer’s flattery. 

“ But that should not trouble you,” returned the 
advertising agent. “ So long as I am satisfied to 
place the business for you, you have no cause for 
anxiety. I would suggest that we make up a list 
of the best publications — the cream of all the 
papers — a list that will not amount to over say 
two hundred thousand dollars.” 

“ Do you think that is large enough for a 
scheme like this ?” asked Stover, seemingly much 
disappointed. 

“ Well, under the circumstances, perhaps we 
had better keep the amount down ; Mr. Van 
Gilding, I am convinced, would prefer it.” 

“ Well, of course I know nothing of this busi- 
ness,” replied the latter — “ nothing whatever, but 
five hundred thousand dollars seems to me an 
enormous sum of money to spend in advertising.” 

“ It is a good deal of money, to be sure,” said 
Migzer, “ but not nearly so much as some houses 


222 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS, 


spend. On the whole, however, I am in favor of 
keeping the amount down as low as possible, say 
not over two hundred and fifty thousand at most.” 

Those familiar with advertising will understand 
that a proposition to place anything like five hun- 
dred thousand or two hundred thousand dollars’ 
worth of business of the character in question is 
absurd. Migzer had no idea of doing so. The 
piece of real estate on which he already had a lien 
of thirty three thousand dollars was perhaps worth 
a hundred and twenty five thousand, as Van 
Gilding claimed. This would leave it worth in 
round numbers, less the mortgage, say ninety 
thousand dollars, which was the amount the 
scheming advertising agent had fixed his mind 
upon. He argued that if he proposed putting out 
ninety thousand, this sum might be reduced to 
nearer twenty, on which Van Gilding doubtless 
would not care to give any security. This would 
not serve his purpose at all. He therefore ar- 
ranged with Stover to talk big figures, not with a 
view to putting out any such quantity of business, 
but to prepare Van Gilding, so that he would 
agree to make himself responsible for the desired 
amount. The influence that a clever tongued vil- 
lain like Migzer, with the aid of a Stover, can exert 
at times over bright men is extraordinary — mar- 
velous even. The bunco men, the gamblers, the 
fraudulent schemers — all have their victims in 
large numbers, among whom may be found men 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS. 


223 


supposed to be keen — men in all professions, in all 
kinds of business, at the head of great financial 
institutions. If questioned after their mortifying 
misfortune they will say — many of them — that a 
strange power possessed them — an influence, a 
magnetism, a something that deadened the caution- 
ary powers of reason, allowing them to follow 
blindly, landing them at last in the schemer’s 
trap. If I were asked to name this influence, this 
strange power, I should call it simply mtoxicated 
enthusiasm. 

To be successful in a matter of this kind, at least 
two men must be employed, who can so stimulate 
the imagination of a victim that he becomes tempo- 
rarily blind to the reasonableness of things. Of 
course careful preparations must be made for this, 
developing relations and purposes that will war- 
rant the denouement. 

There had been no lack of preparation on Mig- 
zer’s part. He had made himself important to 
Van Gilding — had learned his weaknesses, his 
foibles, his desire for money, and his own influence 
over him. Every line had been laid with care, and 
tested in a way to excite no suspicion, in order 
that the crafty schemer might feel sure of the re- 
sult, for matters were now nearing a crisis with 
him. 

Asking Stover to step into the outer office for a 
few moments, Migzer said, addressing Van Gild- 
ing, quietly : 


224 


A TRACED V OF ERRORS. 


“ I have a proposition I will make to you person- 
ally — one I would not want Stover to hear, as he 
might ask similar favors of me in the future. Nov/ 
I want to see this venture made the biggest suc- 
cess of anything in modern journalism, and to help 
you in the matter I am ready to do for you what I 
would not do for others — what I never have done 
for any one in all my business career.” 

Van Gilding, warmed by this statement, was pro- 
fuse v/ith thanks, feeling more than ever his good 
fortune in possessing a friendship of such sterling 
nature. 

“ The proposition is this,” continued Migzer, in 
his most magnetic and generous way. “ I will 
place the business for you, say two hundred and 
fifty thousand dollars, and not ask you to give me 
security for over one hundred thousand. This is 
contrary to my business principles, and something, 
as I said before, that I would do for no one but 
you. But .1 feel an unusual interest in you — a 
warm friendship for you, knowing how you are 
situated,, with Crompton watching like a hungry 
tiger for a chance to pounce upon you.” 

The reference to Mr. Crompton was timely and 
served its purpose well with Van Gilding, whose 
hatred of the father of the girl to whom he was 
engaged grew more bitter from day to day. 

“ I told you,” Migzer went on, warming as he 
proceeded, “ that you would not find my friendship 
the thin and bloodless sort, like Milkston’s,” 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS. 


225 


“ I have felt from the first that I could depend 
upon you,” replied Van Gilding; “and this gene- 
rous offer convinces me that there is no flaw in 
your friendship. But I dislike to have you do so 
much for me when I see no way to repay you.” 

“ Don’t let that bother you, my dear fellow,” said 
Migzer. “ This is my opportunity to do you a 
good turn, and I am going to do it. You will 
doubtless be able to favor me some time in the 
future. But if you do not, my reward will be 
ample in seeing you place yourself beyond any 
possible harm from Crompton’s bitter malice. As 
the matter stands, your danger is only postponed. 
In less than five weeks — and they will slide by 
with surprising rapidity — you will again be 
pressed to raise this thirty three thousand dollars. 
Speculation has proved dangerous to you. Were 
you to keep at it, you might win back your losses, 
but would perhaps be more likely to find yourself 
plunged further than ever into debt — a debt that 
would swamp you and result in Crompton -gain- 
ing his mean desire. This publishing scheme, 
therefore, is a godsend to you, my dear fellow — a 
piece of good luck that seldom falls into one’s 
hands when he needs money as you do. With 
your approval, then, I will go at this thing with a 
will, rushing out the advertising as no other house 
in this city could. But to place so large a con- 
tract, I must of course have something on which I 
can raise money, as a small fortune can be saved to 


226 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS. 


you by sending check with the order. I shall want 
you to give me notes, secured as the others were. 
With them I can get the money to swing this con- 
tract.” 

“ The mortgage would not be recorded ?” asked 
Van Gilding, wearing a slightly anxious look. 

“ No, certainly not. I trust I am too good a 
friend to you to permit such a thing.” 

“ I am sure you are, but I dislike giving so 
many notes,” answered Van Gilding, not suspect- 
ing danger, but hesitating on general principles. 

“ But there is no other way, if this scheme is to 
go through,” said Migzer, assuming a suggestion 
of disgust. 

“No, I suppose not,” returned Van Gilding, 
apologetic in manner. “ But you can understand 
my feeling against placing myself under such 
heavy obligations.” 

“ Certainly I can, my dear fellow, and were you 
not already in an ugly hole I would advise you to 
live on your income and keep out of business. 
But as matters stand, what can you do ? The 
force of the situation you understand only too 
well.” 

“ I do, indeed, and but for Crompton I would 
not be in this fix,” replied Van Gilding, sorely. 
“ Every time I think of it, and the row he made 
about my being an idler, as he said, makes me 
furious.” 

“ And you are justified in feeling as you do, es- 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS. 


227 


pecially now that you are in business and he still 
cherishes his old unreasonable prejudice,” said 
Migzer, finding that by denouncing Crompton he 
elevated himself in Van Gilding’s opinion. “ But 
the question at issue now,” he continued, “ is what 
shall be done about this venture. There are but 
two things to do — one is to go in and make a suc- 
cess of it — treat it as it should be treated — the 
other is to give it up altogether. But in this 
event, what shall you do — how will you raise the 
thirty three thousand dollars? It is better for me 
to be plain with you than to disappoint you — 
more friendly, you know — more sincere. I will 
say, therefore, that there is no certainty that I 
could renew your notes or help you in any way to 
raise the money with which to take them up. I 
refer, of course, to the thirty three thousand dol- 
lars. How, then, could you reasonably hope to 
raise the money without mortgaging your prop- 
erty to some money lender, who would instantly 
have the mortgage recorded, leaving you in the 
undesirable position where Crompton has doubt- 
less been hoping to get you ? ” 

“ There would be no way,” admitted Van Gild- 
ing, with a painful sigh — “no way under heaven.” 

“ That is the business side of it, and in money 
matters there is no sentiment — nothing but cold, 
clean cut business.” 

“ I hate business, confound it all ! ” exclaimed 
Van Gilding, bringing his fist down savagely 


238 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS. 


upon the table. “ I have no taste for it, and why 
I ever yielded to that infernal Crompton, I don’t 
know.” 

“ It was a mistake,” said Migzer, “ an undoubted 
mistake, but now that you are in, the question is, 
how can you get out ? The only way I see is to 
avail yourself of this opportunity, but I do not 
want to urge you — it is not my place to do so.” 

“ It is the only avenue of escape, I know. The 
danger, it seems to me, is less than speculating.” 

“Danger?” exclaimed Migzer. “Why, what 
danger can there be in an advertisement that brings 
the unprecedented percentage of replies Dagwood 
& Company have received?” 

“ Well, I suppose there is none, but it seems like 
taking big chances, though, to give notes for a 
hundred thousand dollars.” 

“ But this is a world of chances — danger on every 
hand. If business men waited for down right cer- 
tainties, enterprise would be dead forever. In 
speculation you did not lack courage. I cannot 
understand why you should now, when you have 
so good an opportunity to make a great haul. 
Think of the chances Bainbridge has taken — 
facing obstacles that seemed to me insurmount- 
able, as I told you, when he first started his paper. 
But he is still issuing it, with fair prospects, seem- 
ingly, now, for making a big success. I tell you 
what it is, my dear fellow, nerve counts for every- 
thing in this world of ours.” 


A TRAGEDY m ERROliS. 


229 


To show less courage than Bainbridge — to 
prove weaker in Migzer’s eyes than his hated class- 
mate, was something Van Gilding with his over- 
whelming pride would not allow. This reference 
to Bainbridge came at the right time, proving the 
one thing necessary to cause Van Gilding to yield 
to Migzer’s proposal, which was that he should 
make himself responsible for one hundred thou- 
sand dollars’ worth of advertising, giving notes for 
that sum, which were to be secured by mortgage 
on his real estate. 

“ I would not think of doing this with any other 
man living,” said Van Gilding, “ but I feel that I 
can trust you — that you are a sincere friend.” 

I appreciate this compliment, my dear fellow,” 
returned Migzer, “ and can assure you that your 
confidence shall be amply rewarded.” 

“ I have no doubt of it,” said Van Gilding, 
cheerfully. “ Now that the matter is decided, I 
feel like pitching in and making things hum.” 


230 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS, 


XIX. 

'^HEODORE MIGZER was not the man to 
^ lose anything by dallying. He had worked 
long and with clever tact to effect the deal with 
Van Gilding, and he took good care that no delay 
should rob him of the big reward which now 
seemed as good as secured. Never before had ad- 
vertising been rushed out from any agency in so 
short a time — never had an equal amount been 
placed so recklessly — with so little regard for the 
selection of desirable mediums. As Van Gilding 
knew nothing of the business, he naturally did not 
interfere with Migzer, who, left to himself, made 
the most of his opportunity. Stover did not 
trouble himself about the papers listed for the ad- 
vertisement, as he was not responsible for the 
bills. He assumed, however, as a matter of 
course, that Migzer would not place the business 
in publications that could not possibly be ex- 
pected to pay. But as matters were shaping 
themselves with the advertising agent, what cared 
he whether the results proved good or bad ? He 
was secured by mortgage, and could not lose 
under any circumstances. His object, then, was 
to get the business placed somewhere, anywhere, 
so that his books would show Van Gilding to be 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS, 


231 


actually in his debt to the extent of one hundred 
thousand dollars. 

While the advertising was going out, Stover 
and Van Gilding busied themselves with getting 
up the first number of the Home Journal and Wel- 
come Companion. This was not a very arduous un- 
dertaking, as the paper possessed no merit what- 
ever — was simply a reprint of matter that had ap- 
peared elsewhere, furnished by a ready print asso- 
ciation. A few illustrations were added- -bought 
from an old cut shop, just to give the publication 
the appearance of an illustrated journal. 

When the advertising on the Home Journal and 
Welcome Companion had been out something 
like a week, Stover found his mail suddenly swell- 
ing. Money had commenced to flow in, and the 
subscription list of Van Gilding’s paper grew 
marvelously. Everything now was silver tipped 
with the scion of aristocracy. The sight of dollar 
bills, piled high in box — the product of a thousand 
letters from simple country folk, warmed him, 
developing a smile broad and deep, where but a 
few days before had rested gloom. 

One forenoon, soon after the first advertisement 
had appeared, a brisk little man with keen gray 
eyes shaded by peculiarly long, grizzly eyebrows, 
appeared at the publication office of the Home 
Journal and Welcome Companion and asked to see 
Mr. Stover. 

“ Mr. Stover is busy in his private office at 


232 A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS. 

present,” said a clerk — a pleasant faced young 
woman. 

“ I’m in a good deal of a hurry,” replied the 
little man, whose eye surveyed the office critically. 

“ Can I not serve you ? ” asked the young woman, 
politely. 

“ Thank you, no, I wish to see the publisher 
personally.” 

“ I will take your card to him,” replied the young 
woman, deciding that the little man was not the 
sort who usually subscribe to such papers as the 
Home Journal and Welcome Companion. 

“ I have no card,” replied the stranger. 

“ Your name, then ?” 

“Mr. Stover would not recognize my name — 
simply say to him that I want to see him on busi- 
ness.” 

The young woman carried the message to Mr. 
Stover, and Mr. Stover straightway appeared in 
person, wearing a curious look. 

“ Mr. Stover ? ” said the little man, fixing his keen 
eyes upon the latter. 

“ Yes, that is my name.” 

“ I see you offer a watch with your paper,” said 
the little man, coming to business at once, and 
taking from his pocket a copy of Van Gilding’s 
advertisement. “ Now, this strikes me,” he con- 
tinued, “ as a scheme .that can be worked to almost 
an unlimited extent up in my section of the 
country.” 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS. 


233 


“ What is your section of the country?” asked 
Stover, his curiosity quieted with the thought that 
the little man merely wanted an agency. 

“ Connecticut,” replied the stranger; “and there 
is no section of this country where folks take 
to a thing of this kind as they do in Connecticut. 
Them Yankees are great on getting something for 
nothing. Now if I can make the right kind of a 
deal with you, why I’d like to represent you in my 
locality — taking the whole State, if we can agree 
on the terms. I tell you there is loads of money 
in this scheme if it is only worked right, and I 
think if I do say it that I am just the man that can 
work it for all there is in it.” 

“ Well, you are the sort of man I like to talk 
with,” replied Stover, his face glowing. “ Just come 
into my private office, where we will be alone, and 
I’ll see what can be done.” 

The little man was agreeable to the proposition, 
and followed the publisher to his den, where the 
conversation continued for a full half hour, in 
which time the little man gathered the informa- 
tion he sought, ending in subscribing for a year to 
the Home Journal and Welcome Companion. He 
handed the money to Stover personally, taking his 
receipt for it, and got the sun dial premium, which 
he wrapped in tissue paper and put in his pocket 
as if it was a really precious article. 

“ Sorry we can’t agree on terms,” said Stover, as 
the little man rose to go. 


234 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS, 


“ Yes, so am I,” replied the latter, moving toward 
the door with a copy of the The Home Jou7'nal and 
Welcome Coinpanioji in his hand. “ But the fact is, 
you are not willing to pay enough for my ser- 
vices.” 

The hands of the big clock in Stover’s office 
were climbing toward twelve when the door closed 
on the alleged man from Connecticut. Reaching 
the apex, they started on the post meridian de- 
scent, and before the smaller hand had traversed 
three of the hour spaces, Stover was apprised of 
the fact that all mail addressed to the Home Jour- 
nal and Welcome Companion had been stopped by the 
government. 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS, 


235 


XX. 



N receiving notice that the mail on the Home 


Journal and Welcome Companion had been 
stopped by order of the Postmaster General, 
Stover readily saw the hand of the little man 
with grizziy eyebrows. “ A post office inspector,” 
he mused, with darkened brow — “ came here to 
pump me — not from Connecticut more than I am 
— agent of the government. Well, Pm in for it 
now, I guess,” he sighed, talking low to himself. 
“He hoodwinked me in good shape, and found 
out everything.” 

Without stopping for an overcoat, though the 
air was crisp and wintry, Stover hurried to Mig- 
zer’s office with troubled face. The advertising 
agent and Van Gilding were both there. They 
had been discussing the scheme and calculating 
the amount of money the latter would clear from 
the venture. The profit estimated by Migzer was 
over two hundred thousand dollars. Van Gild- 
ing, elated by the inflow of money, put it even 
higher. 

“ Sixty days from now you will be independent 
of Crompton — will have more ready money than 
he has,” said Migzer. 


236 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS. 


“ I am sure I will/’ replied Van Gilding, 
haughtily. 

“And you will probably take good care that 
you do not cripple yourself again to please him.” 

“ Cripple myself to please him ! ” repeated Van 
Gilding, bitterly. 

“ A man who, as you suggest, would rejoice in 
your downfall,” interjected the subtle Migzer. 

It was at this juncture that Stover arrived, with 
an anxious look on his face. 

“What has happened ?” said Migzer, quick to 
suspect the nature of the trouble. 

“ Our mail has been stopped,” answered Stover, 
breathing fast. 

“ Stopped ! ” exclaimed Migzer, as if doubting 
his own senses. 

“Stopped!” echoed Van Gilding, his face al- 
ready colorless. 

“ Yes, stopped by order of the Postmaster Gen- 
eral,” answered Stover, dropping into a chair. 

“On what grounds ? ” demanded Migzer, with 
well feigned surprise. 

“ On the ground that we are using the mails 
for illegitimate purposes.” 

“ This is outrageous ! ” said Migzer. 

“ Illegitimate purposes 1 ” exclaimed Van Gild- 
ing, grasping the arm of his chair. 

“ Yes, illegitimate purposes.” 

“And we shall get no more mail?” asked Van 
Gilding, white as marble. 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS. 


237 


No more I suppose," replied Stover, dubi- 
ously. 

“ No more, and all this advertising to pay for — 
a hundred thousand dollars ! ” muttered Van 
Gilding, the picture of misery. 

“ There must be some mistake," said Migzer, 
putting on a bold front. “ The advertisement is 
all right — perfectly legitimate. You don’t promise 
anything that you do not give." 

“ I’m ruined ! ” groaned Van Gilding, com- 
pletely unmanned — “ ruined — all my property 
gone — everything gone ! " 

“ Don’t give way so," said Migzer, mopping the 
perspiration from his face. “ There may be some 
mistake — that is, it may be fixed all right yet." 

But this remark did not cheer Van Gilding, who 
now sat bent over in his chair, resting his head on 
both hands. 

“ And this is business — business ! " he groaned. 
“ Why did I ever come down here — here where 
everything has been lost ?" 

On Migzer’s advice the case was put into the 
hands of a lawyer, with instructions to do every- 
thing possible to have the order stopping their 
mail rescinded. 

Twenty four hours later, and there had been no 
change in the situation. Van Gilding became 
despondent — wretched even, for now he had little, 
hope to cheer him. Another day went by — two, 
three, a week, and now the final decision came 


238 A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS. 

from the Postmaster General, wherein he refused 
to revoke his order to stop the mail. He claimed 
that the phraseology of the advertisement, in con- 
nection with the cut showing a watch, led people 
to believe that they were to get a watch and 
chain with the paper as a premium. 

“ The mere fact,” he continued, “that you do not 
state in so many words that a watch will be given 
as a premium, does not help your case so long as 
you convey the same idea in another way. It is 
plain that you seek to have the reader believe he 
will get a watch and chain, else why have you 
printed the cut of a watch in the advertisement ? 
In no place have you mentioned the fact that the 
premium you send out is a mere sun dial. Words 
are not the only means of conveying intelli- 
gence. There are many ways in which it can be 
done. To my mind it matters not what the 
vehicle is — the result is what I look to. You have 
said to the reader of the advertisement, in effect, 
by a cunning arrangement of words and the use of 
this cut, that you will give him a watch and chain 
as a premium with the Home Journal and Welcome 
Companion. Relying on your representation, he 
sends his dollar to you and gets a worthless sun 
dial and a paper of no more value — a sheet that 
bears on the face of it evidences of having been 
got up purposely to use with the scheme you have 
attempted to run. The United States mails can- 
not be used for purposes of this sort. All letters 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS. 


239 


addressed to the Home Journal and Welcome Com- 
panion^ therefore, will be returned to the writers.” 

The last hope vanished, Van Gilding was utterly 
wretched. He knew not which way to turn — what 
move to make. One hundred and thirty three 
thousand dollars he owed — enough to more than 
swamp his real estate — enough to leave him penni- 
less and still in debt. Instead of making the 
money to pay all his losses in speculation, he had 
sunk a hundred thousand dollars more. Now he 
commenced to distrust the sincerity of Migzer’s 
assumed friendship; now he commenced to trace 
the hand of the crafty villain, but alas, too late, 
for he was in the schemer’s power, had been ruined 
by him and yet dared not say a word or as much 
as hint at his suspicions, fearing the two mortgages 
would be recorded. 

There was one hope for him yet, and but one, as 
it seemed to him. That was to marry Miss 
Crompton, afld share her wealth — the wealth that 
must come to her from her father. But his chance 
of effecting this union now seemed extremely 
doubtful, since all hope of doing so would be lost 
should Mr. Crompton learn of his losses. To keep 
this knowledge from him Van Gilding was willing 
to make any sacrifice — willing to do anything 
Migzer might demand. His suspicion of the ad- 
vertising agent once aroused, he easily saw how 
he had been deceived by him in the plausible guise 
of friendship. He rehearsed his connection with 


240 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS. 


him, recalling the lavish generosity of the man — 
his whole souled manner — his apparent interest in 
helping him to make money, the advice he gave 
him in speculation, and in raising funds to cover 
his losses. 

In all this Van Gilding now saw the clever 
scheming of Migzer. Every exhibition of gene- 
rosity, every act of kindness, showed the subtle 
purpose, the black and unprincipled unselfishness 
of the advertising agent. It did not occur to Van 
Gilding at the time that Migzer would make about 
fifteen thousand dollars in commissions in placing 
the hundred thousand dollars’ worth of business. 
His mind had been fixed upon his own interests, 
never suspecting a selfish purpose in Migzer, who 
at that time seemed the embodiment of gene- 
rosity — the ideal friend. Now all was changed. 
The advertising agent had shown his hand. 
The man who but a few days before had been 
a revelation of generosity, of unselfishness, of 
kindness, was now, in the eyes of Van Gild- 
ing, the blackest souled of all the human 
race. He could not endure him in his sight — 
could not enjoy a moment’s peace with him be- 
yond his vision, fearing always the mortgage — the 
mortgage — a volcano ever threatening to destroy 
him. To loathe a man as Van Gilding now loathed 
Migzer — a villain of darkest and most subtle 
character — and yet to be obliged to hide the feel- 
ing, smiling while the heart burns with hate, is 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS. 


241 


something to unman one — to humiliate and wreck 
the spirit inherited from proud ancestry. 

Pride, dash and overbearing manner do not sig- 
nify genuine force of character. They are, how- 
ever, not infrequently taken for such in seasons of 
prosperity. But in adversity, when the strain 
comes and the gauge of the haughty character is 
taken, it is pretty sure to be found wanting. Then 
it is that the quiet, unostentatious man — the man of 
modest spirit and retiring habit — shows himself 
the greater of the two, and proves able to bear the 
test to which the other yields. 

In college Van Gilding’s haughty pride, his 
family name, his self conceit, passed as force of 
character with boys, who read not deeply. But 
embarked on the voyage of life, where estimates 
count for naught, and only true metal can with- 
stand the strain — the sudden squalls, the storms, 
the threatening dangers — there it is that one finds 
himself a man, if man he be, or learns the weak 
thing he really is. 

Van Gilding’s gauge was taken, and he was 
found wanting — wanting in the elements neces- 
sary to meet manfully the disaster that had swept 
away his fortune. He became the puppet of Mig- 
zer, when a strong character would have faced the 
issue boldly and denounced the villain who had 
used him so treacherously. Weak people pay 
frightful interest for more time., hoping that in 
some mysterious way it will be easier to face the 


242 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS, 


facts which they so much dread and which grow 
in ugliness as the weeks go by. 

Had Van Gilding met his first loss wisely, he 
would still have had a good property left. Had 
he met his second bravely as he should, he would 
not have sacrificed his manliness and dignity as 
he did by becoming the despised tool of the 
scoundrel Migzer. 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS. 


243 


XXL 

'^HERE seems sometimes to be a strange 
^ fatality in the world that directs our steps. 
So many peculiar and inexplicable happenings are 
brought to our notice from time to time that we 
are wont to ask if there is not a subtle force in the 
world of which we know nothing. There may 
not be anything in this idea. I am not prepared 
to say that there is. No one can say so from ac- 
tual knowledge. It is a question of impression — 
of belief based on the strange occurrences that 
happen so frequently in all our lives. The mys- 
terious force may be a sort of magnetism. In 
some cases it seems that it is. If so, and if 
there be such an element attracting man to 
man, or working in various ways peculiar to it- 
self — if so, I say. Van Gilding and Bainbridge 
must have been subject to its subtle power, so 
strangely were they thrown together again and 
again when it was the wish of each to avoid the 
other. 

Entering the same class in college, they early 
sought different paths. But fate, or magnetism, 
or whatever it be, would not allow the will 
free sway, often bringing the two together in 
strange and unexpected ways. The meeting at 


244 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS. 


Shelter Island, the rescue from the sinking boat — 
strange, very strange, I say, that it should have 
been Bainbridge to go to Van Gilding’s assist- 
ance when so many boats were out on that moon- 
lit night. Again, Bainbridge runs up to Central 
Park for an hour’s outing — the first for months 
— and approaching the east side drive — the 
roadway most frequented by carriages — the 
first, or almost the first to come before his eyes 
was Van Gilding. Again in Migzer’s office they 
were thrown together ; and now another meeting 
occurs ip an out of the way place, brought about 
by an accident on a dark, dismal night. 

Bainbridge, as I have previously recorded, was 
doing the work of several men. To make this 
possible, his evenings were pressed into the ser- 
vice, lengthening out his days by just so many 
hours. Usually he spent this time in his room, 
writing, doing editorial work, or perhaps in getting 
up business forms. Sometimes, however, he would 
go to the house of an engraver or artist to arrange 
for work for his paper. On the night in question 
he was out on an errand of this sort. A Mr. 
Spartenberg, an artist of very good fame, lived on 
Riverside Drive, not far from the tomb of General 
Grant. He was so badly crippled that he seldom 
made his way down town. Bainbridge, therefore, 
found it necessary to go to his house, as a personal 
interview always resulted in getting more satisfac- 
tory drawings. . 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS. 


245 


It was about half past nine on this evening when 
Bainbridge finished his business with Spartenberg 
and commenced his homeward journey. The 
nearest station on the elevated road to the artist’s 
home is at One Hundred and Fourth Street. It 
happened that Bainbridge, contrary to his usual 
custom, decided to walk down on Riverside Drive 
till he came to One Hundred and Fourth Street, 
whereas, on previous visits to this locality, he had 
returned by the way of the Boulevard to the 
street on which the station stood — a shorter and 
much more desirable route for a cold and very 
dark night, as this was. The only explanation of 
the strange freak that led him to follow a lonely 
driveway — a driveway skirting a steep embank- 
ment beneath which the rushing tide of the North 
River could be heard — a place to make the way- 
farer shudder and suggest to his mind tales of 
robbery and crime — the only explanation of this, 
I say, must lie in the subtle unknown power, the 
strange magnetism that was once more bringing 
Bainbridge and Van Gilding together. 

The former had reached One Hundred and 
Twelfth Street, and was swinging along at a lively 
pace, when he heard the rumble of wheels ap- 
proaching on the hard ground. Another block 
passed, and still another, when suddenly he heard 
a crash, followed by a cry of pain. 

Bainbridge ran to the scene of the accident, 
which was but a little way off. It was so dark that 


246 


A TRACED y OF ERRORS. 


faces could not be recognized, though sufficiently 
light to discover the cause of the mishap. A deep, 
broad hole had been made in the road by a re- ' 
cent heavy rain. The lamp in the lantern, viffiich 
was placed theie as a warning, had ceased to burn, 
leaving the danger without a danger signal. The 
coachman of a brougham coming along at a good 
speed, and sitting carelessly on the box, had driven 
squarely into the hole. The left forward wheel 
dropped to the axle, stopping the brougham sud- 
denly, and throwing the driver to the ground with 
such force as to break a leg and bruise him 
badly. 

The two men occupying the cab escaped with- 
out injury other than a thorough shaking up. 
They hurriedly climbed out of the wrecked vehicle, 
and appeared to be dazed, paying no heed to the 
calls of the injured driver, who groaned loud and 
incessantly. Bainbridge arrived on the scene at 
this time, and, taking in the situation at a glance, 
concluded that the men were too much frightened 
to know what move to make first. He hurried to 
the side of the prostrate coachman and raised him 
to his feet, finding, when he had done so, that the 
man could not stand. The horse had now become 
restive and needed attention, and Bainbridge 
called to the men to assist him, directing one to 
secure the horse, and the other to come to him and 
help support the injured driver. 

“ You go to the horse, Briggs,” said one of the 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS. 


247 


two, betraying much excitement in his voice, “and 
I will help the man.” 

The man called Briggs obeyed the command 
with a “ Yes, sir,” while the other came to Bain- 
bridge’s assistance. 

When the nature of the coachman’s injuries were 
learned, the only thing to do was to make prepa- 
rations for having him removed to his home or a 
hospital. Bainbridge therefore requested the man 
who came to his assistance to remain with the 
coachman while he inspected the damage to the 
cab, with a view to patching it up if possible, so 
that it would serve as an ambulance. This he 
thought might be done if it could be pulled along 
to the nearest street lamp. 

His plan was accordingly carried out, Briggs 
assisting him, with his habitual “Yes, sir,” when- 
ever spoken to. When the cab had been pulled to 
the light, Bainbridge found the damage to be such 
that it could be temporarily repaired with the 
means at their command. He then went back to 
assist the man with the coachman in taking him 
to the cab, Briggs meanwhile holding the horse. 

When the coachman and his two supporters 
neared the lamp, where the light fell upon their 
faces. Van Gilding — for it was he — gazed, terror 
stricken, on Bainbridge — the man of all others he 
hated most — the man who constantly crossed his 
path as if directed by an unseen hand to torture 
him. 


248 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS. 


Bainbridge, always cool, always collected, was 
nevertheless startled at 'meeting again his old 
enemy at that time and place. 

“ This meeting is quite as much a surprise as our 
last,” said he, feeling that something must be said. 
“ But it will not necessarily be prolonged. If you 
will assist me now, we will place the coachman in 
the cab. I will then help your friend about hitching 
the horse in the shafts. Either he or you, as you 
prefer, can then drive, while the other rides inside 
with the coachman.” 

This suggestion was carried out, the cab shortly 
disappearing in the darkness, with Briggs on the 
box, while Bainbridge hurriedly made his way to 
the elevated station, wondering how many more 
times in his career he and Van Gilding were to be 
thrown together under circumstances strange and 
peculiar. 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS. 


249 


XXII. 



HREE weeks lacking one day had passed by 


^ since the mail on the Home Jour7ial and Wel- 
cojne Co7npanion was stopped, when one morning 
the Herald came out with startling head lines, 
giving a brief account of a mysterious murder in 
one of New York’s palatial homes. The following 
is an extract from the newspaper report : 

A handsome private residence on Murray Hill, the home of Wilson 
D. Crompton, the well known broker, was the scene last night of a 
mysterious tragedy. The victim was Nathaniel Stover, who, we 
learn from the commercial agency books, was a novelty dealer on 
Fulton Street. The report of tlie affair reached us at so late an hour 
that it was impossible to get any reliable details. The fact, how- 
ever, that a murder has been committed on a fashionable part of 
Fifth Avenue, and in the home of a well known and respected citizen, 
is calculated to excite unusual interest in the community. We have 
learned of no motive for the crime. No arrest has been made. The 
whole affair is shrouded in m3 stery. 

As predicted by the journal from which the fore- 
going extract was taken, the announcement of this 
murder stirred all New York and the neighbor- 
ing communities. Mr. Crompton’s standing in 
business — his daughter’s position in society — all 
lent interest to the mysterious crime itself. In 
overcrowded portions of the city, the tenement 
house districts, packed with the worst element of 
foreign, crime stained humanity, murders occur 
not infrequently. But culprit and victim alike are 
unknown to any save a few in their immediate circle. 


250 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS. 


The assassin does not haunt our best avenues, 
where wealth and refinement dwell. He lurks in 
the narrow alleys, amid squalor, mingling for the 
most part with those of hot tempers and brutal 
nature like his own. 

It would not be so strange that blood should be 
shed in some crowded rookery in the lowest part 
of the metropolis, the natural breeding place of 
dirt, disease and crime. But it almost passed be- 
lief that such a tragedy could be enacted in one 
of the stately homes of Murray Hill. How could 
it have come to pass that in Mr. Crompton’s 
library — the cozy room in which the latter had 
told his daughter the story of his early romance — 
a story that introduced Nate Stover as the lover 
of Rachel Hargrave, the rival of himself — this 
same Stover, grown older by twenty odd years, 
now lay cold in death, the victim of an unknown 
assassin — murdered for an unknown cause ? 

The extraordinary circumstances of the case, 
and the mystery that surrounded it, were enough 
to startle all Manhattan Island, and paint interest 
intense and curious on the faces of its dwellers. 
The murder became the topic of the hour, and the 
eagerness with which further information was 
sought was only equaled by the difficulty, or al- 
most impossibility, of obtaining it. 

In the afternoon following the night of the 
tragedy the coroner’s jury met to make its investi- 
gation of the affair. The evidence presented to it 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS. 


251 


was to the effect that Nathaniel Stover was found 
dead in Mr. Crompton’s library ; that he was sit- 
ting in a chair, his body having fallen forward so 
that it rested against a table, upon which his 
right hand lay, the other having dropped by his 
side, while his head lay upon the table, resting on 
the right cheek. A small incision was found in 
the back of the coat, a little to the left, and about 
an inch and a half below the shoulder blade. 
This had been made by a sharp pointed instru- 
ment, possibly a stiletto, or more probably a 
thin steel letter opener, which was found near the 
lifeless form, smeared with blood. The instru- 
ment, whatever it was, had entered the dead man’s 
back, and, as testified by medical experts, pene- 
trated the heart, causing instant death. The 
position of the wound precluded the idea of 
suicide. The coroner’s jury therefore found that 
Nathaniel Stover came to his end by the hand of 
person or persons unknown, and that death en- 
sued from a wound inflicted with a sharp pointed 
instrument. 


252 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS. 


XXIII. 



OW that it had been determined, by due pro- 


^ ^ cess of law, that Nathaniel Stover was 
murdered, the question was asked by every one, 
“Who is the assassin?” To solve this problem 
detectives of the first rank, and newspaper men 
representing the great dailies of the city, vied 
with each other. Money was spent freely ; clews 
were investigated ; theories were followed up. 
Public interest in the tragedy was so great that 
the genius of modern journalism was taxed to 
supply the feverish demand of the people for facts 
and theories bearing on the mysterious affair. 
Many columns of generalities and speculation 
were printed in the more sensational sheets, 
writing up details and giving graphic pictures of 
imaginary scenes, horrible and thrilling. Ingeni- 
ous theories were advanced and worked out with 
careful detail, sufficient in length for an hour’s 
reading, and which, perhaps, in the very next 
issue of the same journal were discarded — re- 
placed by a different exhibition of imagination, 
no less clever than the first. 

And so it went on day after day, the public 
patiently reading and unreading, devouring specu- 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS. 


253 


lation and getting little substance upon which to 
satisfy their curiosity or allay their interest. 

The factb in connection with Stover’s mysteri- 
ous death were of a character very likely to in- 
volve Mr. Crompton in the tragedy. Circum- 
stances certainly pointed suspiciously toward him 
as the perpetrator, or one in league with the 
perpetrator of the crime. On the other hand, his 
reputation as an honorable citizen, and the utter 
lack, so far as was known, of any motive for the 
murder, stood between him and the verdict of 
guilty in the minds of the people — shrouding the 
whole affair in deepest mystery. Few people 
were willing to believe, without additional facts of 
a criminating character, that Mr. Crompton — a 
leading business man — a man of excellent stand- 
ing in the community, could deliberately commit 
such a crime. If he was the murderer, they 
argued, it must have been in self defense ; and 
yet the wound- -a thrust in the back — and the po- 
sition of the dead man, as testified to before the 
coroner’s jury, tended to the belief that the 
assassin had made the fatal thrust secretly, while 
the victim’s head was turned away, so that he 
would not have seen one stealing up behind him. 

Under ordinary circumstances, Mr. Crompton’s 
word would never have been questioned. But 
under the finger of suspicion, what he said, unsup- 
ported by evidence, counted for little in his favor. 
He could suggest no plausible theory to account 


254 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS, 


for the crime, and claimed that it was as much 
a mystery to him as to the public. 

In the entire absence of any other clew — any 
other possible theory than that the murder was 
perpetrated by Wilson D. Crompton, the detect- 
ives went to work to try and justify this belief — to 
discover facts, circumstances in the careers of the 
dead man and the man suspected of committing 
the crime, that would sustain their theory. Mr. 
Crompton’s history was followed back step by 
step to his boyhood, and even to his ancestry, 
three generations beyond. And the career of 
Nathaniel Stover likewise was examined, resulting 
in a discovery that quickened the pulse of the 
grim detective. From ancestry widely diverged, 
the careers of the two men were traced to a com- 
mon point in Woodville. Here, then, was the 
starting place — the key to the -situation — the be- 
ginning of complications centered in a love affair. 

With renewed diligence, with buoyant hopes, 
the keen eyed detective now applied himself to the 
case, examining with painstaking care every act of 
the two men from the Woodville episode to the 
time of the murder. 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS. 


255 


XXIV. 

the night when Stover came to his untimely 
end Miss Crompton and her aunt, Mrs. 
Woodman, were again at Mrs. Strivewell’s house. 
The scene on this occasion was not unlike the one 
presented there nearly a year before — the recep- 
tion to which I devoted a considerable space. 

On that evening Miss Crompton received with 
the hostess, but now her place was taken by an- 
other — a less charming girl, but one who had not 
incumbered herself with a matrimonial engage- 
ment. 

Miss Crompton, notwithstanding her relations 
with Van Gilding, showed excellent tact in smiling 
on others as well as him — not in a way to excite his 
jealousy or to bring forth critical remarks from 
austere matrons. Her popularity, as was natural, 
then continued, whereas another, given to senti- 
mental exclusiveness, as many engaged girls are, 
would have very nearly lost her hold upon all save 
one man — the man, forgetting all others — forgotten 
by them. Not so with Lela Crompton, whose 
good sense and loyal heart kept her from errors to 
which a weak character is always subject. She 
could talk and joke with the men of her acquaintance 
with safety, finding pleasure in the pastime — find- 


256 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS. 


ing, too, that by so doing she enjoyed the presence 
of her lover with keener zest than she could have 
realized from one dead level of maudlin sentiment 
for him. 

Her circle was always a charmed one — always 
bubbling with fun and bright sayings — a circle 
wherein gossip and bickerings — the product of 
thin, poverty stricken souls — found little room for 
recognition. The year that had passed, crowning 
her with twenty summers, had added to her beauty, 
had enriched her mind, had strengthened her posi- 
tion in society. 

It seems sometimes that an impending doom is 
foreshadowed, as it were, by excessive joy and un- 
usual brilliancy on the part of him whose fate is 
close at hand. And so with Miss Crompton, who 
never before had been so charming; never had 
looked so sweet ; never had given her friends so 
much pleasure ; never had had so many pleasant 
things said of her as on this evening. Major 
Poodel, Milkston, Van Gilding, Bigs, Miss Metcalf 
— all were there, acting the old play over again 
with the zest of a year before. The major, after 
repeated efforts, had reached Miss Crompton’s side 
and was outdoing himself with prettily phrased 
compliments — compliments that must have been 
genuine, inspired by her beauty — when Mrs. 
Woodman joined her with troubled look, saying 
they were summoned home with great haste. 

The two ladies excused themselves, threw on 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS. 


257 


their wraps, and asking Mrs. Strivevvell to explain 
their sudden departure to Van Gilding, who could 
not for the moment be found, hurried into the car- 
riage in waiting, as yet ignorant of the dreadful 
calamity that had fallen upon their happy home. 
The carriage whirled rapidly along the avenue, 
dashing past St. Patrick’s, on to the old reservoir, 
and still on till the horses were suddenly brought 
to a standstill at the door of Miss Crompton’s 
home. Instantly she alighted and ran up the 
steps, closely followed by her aunt. At the door 
her maid met her, and grasped her hand in wild 
excitement, exclaiming : 

“ Oh, Miss Lela, Miss Lela ! ” 

“What is it, Mary? Tell me quickly, tell me,” 
replied Miss Crompton, with face white as marble, 
but nerving herself for the worst. 

“ It is too horrible, too horrible,” sobbed the girl, 
hysterically. 

“Is father ?” gasped Miss Crompton, not 

daring to finish the sentence. 

“ No,” answered Mary, divining her mistress’s 
meaning. 

“ Not ill ?” pursued Miss Crompton, eagerly. 

“ No — oh no. Miss Lela.” 

“ What then is it? — oh, this suspense ! ” 

“ A man — killed,” answered the girl, with a 
shudder. 

“ Killed ? ” repeated Miss Crompton. 

“ Yes — -murdered.” 


258 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS. 


^‘Murdered — who — where?” demanded Miss 
Crompton, grasping her maid’s arm, unable 
longer to suppress her excitement. 

“ Murdered ! ” echoed Mrs. Woodman, falling to 
the floor unconscious. 

“ Oh, this is dreadful, dreadful ! ” said Miss 
Crompton, rushing to her aunt’s assistance. 
“ Water, water ! ” she cried, urging the girl to 
action, who for the minute was dazed by this new 
trouble — another death, perhaps, she thought. 

Hearing the commotion below, and recognizing 
his daughter’s voice, Mr. Crompton quickly de- 
scended the stairs to join her — to tell her what had 
happened — to feel her sustaining presence in this 
terrible hour. “ My God ! ” he exclaimed, pale 
and haggard, on beholding his sister’s prostrate 
form, over which his daughter bent with tear 
stained face. “ This is too much ! ” he went on, 
driven almost beside himself by the thought that 
she, too, lay dead — a sacrifice, perhaps, for the 
awful crime that had been done above stairs. 

“ Oh, father, what is it ? What has happened ? ” 
cried Miss Crompton. 

“ Your aunt — dead, too ! ” said he, unnerved, 
and standing as if transfixed. 

“ Only fainted, I think — I hope,” replied the 
daughter, dashing a glass of cold water in her 
aunt’s face. “ Yes, only fainted,” she repeated 
nervously. “ See, she revives — oh, aunty, aunty 
dear ! ” 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS. 


259 


“ What is it ?~what is all this about ? A dream, 
a horrible dream — I must be dreaming — Lela, 
Lela, is this you? — is this you, dear?” murmured 
Mrs, Woodman, with returning consciousness, 
grasping her niece meanwhile by the hand, and 
shuddering as if to tear herself away from some 
horrible nightmare. 

“ God be praised that she is not dead, too ! ” ex- 
claimed Mr. Crompton, calming himself and 
assisting his daughter to lead Mrs. Woodman to a 
sofa in the reception room. 

“ Oh, something terrible has happened, Wilson 
— something terrible ! ” exclaimed the aunt, 
wringing her hands piteously. “ It could not 
have been a dream,” she went on — “ no, not a 
dream — it all comes back to me now — the party, 
the summons home — a man dead — murdered. 
Oh, Wilson, Wilson, what is it? Tell us, tell us — - 
let us know the worst ! ” 

“ It is horrible ! ” exclaimed Mr. Crompton, in 
bitter anguish — “ horrible, unaccountable.” 

“ Let us share the trouble with you, father — let 
me share it. I am strong enough to do so — it is 
my place to do so,” said Miss Crompton, throw- 
ing herself about her father’s neck and pressing 
her lips to his forehead. 

“ My dear child,” he murmured, his eyes filling 
with tears and choking with emotion. 

“ Oh, this suspense ! ” cried Miss Crompton — 
*‘it is harder to bear than the truth, however ugly.” 


26 o 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS, 


And still Mr. Crompton said nothing, clinging 
the while passionately to his daughter, the picture 
of misery and sorrow. 

“ Mary said — she said a man is dead — he is — 
that he was murdered,” continued Miss Cromp- 
ton, trying to learn the truth. 

“ Murdered ! ” echoed Mr. Crompton, with a 
shudder. 

“ Yes, she said — oh, horrible, horrible ! ” she 
cried, shrinking from her father’s embrace and 
covering her face with her trembling hands. 
“ Blood ! ” she murmured to herself half inaudibly. 
“ Blood on my father’s hands ! ” 

He caught her words — the wretched father — 
and felt her tear herself from him as if he were a 
thing to be loathed by his own daughter. 

The effect of her untimely words and sudden 
action she quickly realized, and would have given 
her life almost could she have recalled both in time 
to save her father this additional pain. Again she 
folded him in her arms, again she pressed her lips 
to his forehead, saying, “ Depend upon upon me, 
dear father, in this wicked hour. I will be all to 
you that mother could have been had she lived. 
Now tell me all, keeping from me nothing; for I 
must know the worst.” 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS, 


, 261 


XXV. 

'^HE sudden departure of Miss Crompton and 
^ her aunt from Mrs. Strivewell’s reception 
caused a buzz of inquiry to hum around the par- 
lors. No explanation was given, save that they 
were unexpectedly called home — whether on ac- 
count of sickness or accident no one knew. Every 
one wondered what could be the cause, every one 
expressed regret at Miss Crompton’s absence ; 
every one ventured the hope that nothing serious 
had happened, and all alike tried to invent a pos- 
sible reason for the summons. Miss Crompton, 
therefore, continued to be a theme of conversation 
throughout the remainder of the evening. 

Van Gilding returned to the parlors a little time 
after her departure, and received the message left 
with Mrs. Strivewell for him. He turned very pale 
on hearing it, and appeared much agitated. 

“ I hope that nothing serious has happened,” 
said the hostess. 

“ I hope not,” replied Van Gilding, seemingly in 
deep study. 

“ No one was ill at the Cromptons’ ?” queried 
Mrs. Strivewell. 

“ No, I think not — er — at least I heard nothing 
of any one being ill.” 


262. 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS. 


“Mr. Crompton was at home?” 

“ Yes, I think so.” 

“ Possibly he is ill, then?” 

“ Possibly he is.” 

“He usually comes to my reception, you know.” 

“ Yes, I believe so.” 

“ If he had been ill, though, his sister and 
daughter would not have left him.” 

“ I think you are right — they naturally would 
not.” 

“ No, I am sure they would not — Miss Cromp- 
ton is so fond of her father, you know.” 

“ Yes.” 

“ And he is equally fond of her — worships her, 
even — has ever since his wife died. An excellent 
man, Mr. Crompton,” 

“Yes.” 

“ I’m so anxious, fearing something has hap- 
pened — an accident, possibly.” 

“ It is possible,” replied Van Gilding, looking 
towards the floor. 

“ I don’t see how there could have been an acci- 
dent, though — in a private house, too.” 

“ Neither do I, though strange things do occur 
now and again,” said Van Gilding, wiping the 
perspiration from his brow. Excusing himself with 
the remark that he was too anxious to remain 
longer in ignorance of the cause that called Miss 
Crompton home, he hurried from the room and 
was soon making his way down the avenue. 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS, 


263 


“ How devoted Mr. Van Gilding is to Miss 
Crompton, to follow her so soon ! ” said some one. 

“ He is all devotion,” replied Mrs. Strivewell. 
“ I thought surely he would faint, when I told him 
how suddenly she had been called home.” 

“ Yes, I noticed it,” returned the other — “ was so 
nervous and seemed so anxious.” 

“ Yes, poor fellow, I believe it would kill him if 
anything should happen to her.” 

“ She is such a lovely girl, I would not be sur- 
prised.” 

“The sweetest girl in all my acquaintance- - 
so bright, you know.” 

“ Yes, and so refined — so ladylike.” 

“ Very wealthy, too.” 

“ The only child, I believe.” 

“ Yes — will inherit all her father’s fortune.” 

“ How nice, and I am so fond of her ! ” 

“ So am I — every one is, in fact.” 

“ Her manner is so cheerful, and she seems to 
enjoy making others happier.” 

“ Yes, that is her way — her very presence lights 
up a room.” 

“ Makes it sunny and cheerful. I’ve noticed 
that myself.” 

“ Always has been so ever since she was a small 
child.” 

“ How fortunate Mr. Van Gilding is — when is 
the marriage to come off.? ” 

“Very fortunate,” replied Mrs. Strivewell, ‘‘ but 


264 A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS. 

he is a splendid fellow — always such a gentleman, 
you know.” 

“Yes, seems to be — they have been engaged 
about a year, I believe ? ” 

“ Hardly a year — pretty close to it, though.” 

“ I should think they would marry — both have 
plenty of money.” 

“Yes, I suppose so, though the Van Gildings 
are not as wealthy as the Cromptons.” 

“ Enough, though, I dare say.” 

“ Oh, I dare say.” 

“ Well, I almost envy them their happiness — two 
such delightful young people.” 

“ Well matched, and a love match, too — devoted 
to each other, you know.” 

“ So I understand — love matches are always so 
charming — so interesting, you know.” 

At this point the foregoing conversation was in- 
terrupted by Major Poodel, otherwise it might 
have continued for the rest of the evening, so little 
substance is actually necessary in the conversation 
of two women — some women. Though not especi- 
ally edifying, it will serve to show how dearljr Miss 
Crompton was loved by her associates, and in 
w^hat high esteem Van Gilding was held. 

At length the party was over, and all went 
home to sleep — to sleep and wake and behold 
what? — murder! Murder at the Crompton 
household recorded prominently in all the morn- 
ing papers. 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS. 


265 


The mystery was solved — the mystery regard- 
ing Miss Crompton’s summons home, only to 
give place to another, as yet dense and unfathom- 
able. 

Society was astir at least an hour earlier than 
on any previous day since the commencement of 
the season. 

‘‘Was Mr. Crompton guilty of the murder? 
Could it be possible that he would commit such a 
crime?” each asked the other, groping for a clew 
to the mystery. It was an important matter to 
all those now denominated “ the four hundred,” 
as Miss Crompton was no ordinary society girl. 
For two full years she had been a leading belle — 
for two full years she had been more admired, 
more flattered, more praised, than any other in 
the exclusive circle. What was society to do now 
— condole with her or shun her? What should it 
do — what could it afford to do ? These were 
questions asked and discussed and discussed 
again. 

Hear what Bigs the brainless — Bigs the im- 
pecunious — the shadow of the rapid Milkston — 
had to say, bearing on the all absorbing topic. 

“ Do tell me, Mr. Bigs, if you have heard any- 
thing new about the murder,” said a diminutive 
young woman. “ I’m so curious about the affair.” 

“ Every one is just so, don’t you know ? ” an- 
swered the modern New Yorker of the genus 
dude. 


266 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS. 


“ So strange, and do they think Mr. Crompton 
guilty ?” 

“ Well, you see, there is no other explanation. 
My governor said suspicion would surely fasten 
upon him.” 

“ Said it would ?” asked his questioner. 

“ Yes, that is what he said, and he is such a good 
judge of matters of this kind.” 

“ I should think he must be — a clever man, I 
know. But tell me what the club men say of the 
affair — they are such clever men, too.” 

“ Oh, very clever, don’t you know, and they think 
as my governor does. In fact, and between you 
and me, I can’t see any other way the murder could 
have happened.” 

“ Do you really think so ? Then you think he is 
guilty ? ” 

“ I wouldn’t want to say that in so many words, 
don’t you know ; but if you won’t repeat it I’ll tell 
you secretly that I think there is trouble ahead for 
the Cromptons. You understand, of course, that it 
is. policy for a man in my position to be guarded, 
because if anything should occur to show that 
Crompton is innocent, why, don’t you see, it would 
be deucedly awkward for me, being in the same 
circle of society, don’t you know? ” 

“ Decidedly awkward, of course. But do you 
imagine there is any chance that he will be found 
innocent ? ” 

“ It doesn’t look that way now, and yet it may 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS, 267 

be — strange things happen sometimes, don’t you 
know?” 

“ Yes, so they do. I wonder how Miss Crompton 
feels ! ” 

“ Must be a great come down to her.” 

“Mustn’t it, though — any one as proud as she.” 

“ Yes, any one as proud as she — and not so much 
to be proud of, either, as I see — not an old family, 
don’t you know ? ” 

“ I’m glad to hear you say so — glad to find some 
one who doesn’t rave over her. For my part, I’m 
positively sick of hearing hei praises sung.” 

“ I don’t wonder at it, but I guess her praises 
will not be sung any more right away.” 

“Do you really think so?” asked the diminutive 
young woman, rousing herself from her habitual 
languor. 

“ Why, of course, she is under a cloud, don’t you 
know ? ” 

“ And a pretty black one too, I judge.” 

“ Of course, and who do you think would risk 
his reputation by — by — ” 

“ By associating with her now ?” suggested the 
diminutive young woman. 

“Well, yes, perhaps that will do, though, you 
see, it wouldn’t be the thing to take a pronounced 
position the other way.” 

“Yes, that is so — we will have to maintain a 
neutral ground for a few days till something more 
definite is learned.” 


268 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS. 


XXVI. 

'^HREE days of awful suspense, three sleepless 
^ nights went by, and Miss Crompton still had 
her father with her, though she felt that the cloud of 
suspicion was settling each hour more heavily upon 
him. Several times she saw a man eying the 
house — twice in the dead of night, and again late 
in the evening. “ He must be a detective,’* 
thought she, with a sinking heart, “ sent here to see 
that my father does not escape. Oh, why should 
life yield such misery?” she soliloquized, walk- 
ing to and fro in her chamber with clinched hands. 
“ It is cruel, unjust to suspect him of this awful 
crime — so good a man as my father — always kind, 
generous and tender as a woman. What has he 
done, what have I done that this foul deed should 
be laid at our door? — this crime that taints our 
names, leaving us things to be shunned like a pes- 
tilence. Three days ago and I was petted, flat- 
tered and led to believe that my friends would 
make any sacrifice — die, almost, to give me plea- 
sure. I called them friends, and friends they 
seemed, when friends I needed not ; but now 
in this cruel hour, when I crave a look of 
kindness, a cheering word, I am deserted by 
those I loved. If this be friendship then friendship 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS. 269 

is a mockery, a hollow, stalking mockery — mean, 
selfish, cruel — an ill shapen thing, cold to the 
touch — masquerading in the guise of warm 
ideality. And without friendship — that which we 
flatter ourselves is friendship — what has this 
world to offer that justifies man in facing the dis- 
appointments, the calamities, the misery that he is 
forced to meet ? Only love remains, and love — 
can we be sure of that?” said she, drawing from 
her bosom a note — a tear stained note, showing 
many previous readings. It was from Van Gild- 
ing — the man who had promised to make her his 
wife. Refolding it, after dwelling upon its con- 
tents for some moments, she returned it to her 
bosom, saying softly to herself as she resumed her 
measured tread, “ Strange he should have been 
taken ill at this time — not seriously so, he says — a 
cold — and prohibited by the family physician 
from leaving the house for a day or two. And 
that was three days ago, and he has not come to 
me yet — neither he nor any word save this. Per- 
haps he has grown worse and cannot write. How 
else can I account for his prolonged absence and 
this silence when I so 'much need his love — his 
presence ? 

“ His sister, though — his mother, his doctor — 
any one might write were he really too ill to do so. 
But I must not, will not think of him in this way. 
Something keeps him from coming to me, I know 
it does. He is delirious, perhaps, and cannot 


270 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS. 


think of me — does not realize how serious the 
situation is with us.” 

The night dragged by, yielding to Miss Cromp- 
ton a few hours’ troubled slumber. The morning 
came, the sun rose brightly, emphasizing in con- 
trast the gloom of her doomed home. But in a 
little time a cloud appeared in the. eastern sky 
which grew larger and larger till at length it set- 
tled down over the face of the sun, turning the 
bright morning into a dismal day. She felt some- 
how that this change was ominous — that it fore- 
shadowed the thing she most dreaded. ^‘But why 
should it?” she asked herself. “ I have seen just 
such days before,” she continued, with a deep 
sigh, “ many of them, and they bore no ill fore- 
bodings to me. Perhaps, though, to others situ- 
ated then as I am now, they served as warnings.” 

This was a new vein of thought to Miss Cromp- 
ton — a touch of superstition. But it having once 
taken hold of her, she could not rid herself of the 
idea. Today, then, the hours, misery laden as 
they were, flew by more swiftly than ever before. 
Every one she counted, wondering how many 
more would pass before her father would be taken 
from her. Twelve o’clock came — one, two, three, 
four ; and now she began to hope that there was 
nothing in the ominous suggestiveness of the day. 
Half past four, five — five thirteen, and the door 
bell rang. It had rung many times before. She 
had heard it from a child up, and knew its every 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS, 


271 


sound, she thought. But alas, no, no ; for never 
till now had it sent out such cold, hard tones — 
tones that chilled her and almost froze the blood 
within her veins. 

It was as she expected ; the stern, hard faced 
officers had come for her father, with a warrant 
for his arrest, charging him with the murder of 
Nathaniel Stover. 

She threw her arms about her father when the 
officers entered the room, as if to shield him from 
their rude, cruel hands. 

“ My dear child,” he said, huskily, overcome by 
her emotion and tender love, “ this is not the place 
for you. You must not witness this scene. I must 
leave you and your aunt to care for each other for 
the present. My lawyers will look after your 
wants. They have been instructed to do so, as 
this movement on the part of the officers of the 
law has been fully anticipated by me. I am 
sure,” he continued, “that it is no surprise to you, 
either, for I have read your thoughts only too 
plainly and with the most bitter pain. But 
through all — throughout these last four awful 
days — your love and courage and loyalty have 
sustained me, have been a revelation that repaid 
me in part for my anxiety and suffering. It is your 
sorrow for me and the weight of this terrible blow 
resting upon you, as I foresee it will, that pain me 
most deeply — that grieve me almost beyond my 
strength.” 


272 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS, 


“Oh, do not think of me, my dear father,” 
sobbed the daughter. “ Think only of yourself, 
and how to prove your innocence to the world.” 

Too deeply moved to say more, Mr. Crompton 
led his daughter to the door, and handed her to 
her maid, with instructions to take her to her 
aunt’s room. The parting between father and 
daughter was so touching, so pathetic, that the 
eyes of the hardened officers grew moist, and they 
turned away sorrowful. 

The worst was over now with Mr. Crompton. 
Returning to the officers, he soon became calm, 
prepared to face manfully the fate that awaited 
him. He was taken to the Tombs, and soon 
found himself confined in a narrow cell, meagerly 
furnished. What a contrast to his beautiful and 
luxurious home, and how suddenly the change had 
come to him ! Four days ago his word was beyond 
question, his reputation was beyond reproach. 
Now, confined as a criminal, disgraced, his family 
in sorrow, ruined socially — as surely ruined as he 
himself, though they were in no way responsible 
for the crime. 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS, 


273 


XXVII. 

jV/TRS. WOODMAN had not yet fully recovered 
^ from the shock sustained on learning of the 
murder. She lay on a couch in her room at the 
time of Mr. Crompton’s arrest, ignorant of the offi- 
cers’ presence. Miss Crompton, as requested by her 
father, joined her aunt, and, throwing herself into 
the latter’s arms, with head buried upon her breast, 
sobbed heart broken, bemoaning the cruel fate that 
had fallen so heavily upon her father. 

For a full half hour aunt and niece clung to- 
gether ii^ hysterical embrace, mingling tears with 
tears, their hearts going out to him who, hand- 
cuffed and disgraced, was dragged from their 
midst, charged with the crime of crimes — his very 
life in danger. At length Miss Crompton roused 
herself, and showed her aunt the strong, brave girl 
she was. 

“ We must leave this house — this wretched, crime 
stained house,” she said, her words bearing the 
force of determination. 

“ Leave this house !” repeated Mrs. Woodman, 
surprised at this sudden resolution of her niece. 

“ Yes, we must leave it. I cannot remain here 
another twenty four hours, where I see always the 
murdered man haunting me — horrifying me. No, 


274 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS. 


we cannot stay here in this great house, so lonely 
now — the scene of our downfall. Tomorrow we 
will leave it — leave it forever — if another night 
spent within these cold stone walls does not rob me 
of my reason.” 

“ But, my dear, where shall we go, and how can 
we get away so soon ?” 

“ Leave that to me,” answered Miss Crompton, 
quietly. “A long night is before us, and I would 
rather work than toss upon my bed and walk the 
floor the weary hours through, thinking of my 
father in a narrow cell — living over again the last 
four cruel days. No, no, I could not do it !” she 
said, with a shudder and a motion of the hand as 
if to bid the hated vision leave her. “ I have heard 
it said,” she went on, “ that work, more t^an any - 
thing else, tends to dull the keen edge of trouble. 
And so with busy hands I will try and endure an- 
other night here, where it seems to me I could not 
stay but for the prospect of leaving tomorrow.” 

“ But you will make yourself ill,” protested the 
aunt with troubled brow. “ For four nights you 
have hardly had an hour’s sleep. You will break 
down, if you persist in doing as you say.” 

“No, dear aunt, I shall not break down. The 
thought of leaving here will keep me up. I am 
sure I know what is best for me.” And turning 
to her maid she said: “ Bring me writing materials 
and ring for a messenger.” A note was quickly 
dispatched to Mr. CromAvell, her father’s lawyer. 


A TRACED Y OF ERRORS. 


275 


asking him to call upon her at once. Another was 
written to Van Gilding, and sent by messenger 
also. The servants then were summoned into her 
presence. She told them of her decision to leave 
the house on the morrow and asked them if they 
were willing to work with her throughout the 
night in putting things in readiness for moving. 

“ We will do anything for you, Miss Lela,” they 
said with one accord, “ if only you will go to bed 
and get some rest.” 

“ No,” she replied, “ I would not ask you to 
work while I slept, even if that were possible to 
me at this time. We will all work together,” she 
continued. “ It is the best way I can spend the 
night. With you, I feel that I am in the presence 
of those who are interested' in me — that ‘your 
hearts are warmer and n,ore loyal than those of 
many who have had better opportunities than 
you.” 

“We all loves you. Miss Lela,” said Bridget the 
cook, “and will do anything for you,” her eyes 
overflowing with warm heart tears. 

“ I knew you would, Bridget, you and Mary and 
Hannah and James — all of you,” replied Miss 
Crom.pton, touched deeply by the warm, loyal 
words of the servants — an exhibition of affection 
strongly contrasted with the cold selfishness of 
those she had supposed to be her friends. 

An hour later and Mr. Cromwell came in 
answer to her note. 'He had been with her father 


276 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS. 


at the Tombs, else he would have responded 
earlier to her summons. 

“ We leave this house tomorrow,” said Miss 
Crompton, after talking at some length about her 
father. 

“ Leave here tomorrow ? ” exclaimed Mr. Crom- 
well doubtfully. 

“ Yes, tomorrow,” was the reply, spoken in a 
way that left no question in the lawyer's mind of 
her intention. 

“ Where do you propose going, may I ask ? ” 

“ That rests with you, Mr. Cromwell.” 

“ With me?” genuinely surprised. 

“Yes, with you, for you must secure us an 
apartment tonight.” 

“ Have you given this matter careful thought, 
Miss Crompton ? ” asked the lawyer with troubled 
brow. 

“ Yes, my mind is made up.” 

“ But the time is so short,” urged Mr. Crom- 
well, trying to make out if his client’s mind had 
not become unsettled by the sudden and awful 
trouble into which she had been plunged. 

“ Quite long enough,” replied Miss Crompton. 
“ We — the servants and myself — will work all 
night, making the necessary preparations.” 

“Why this untimely haste?” asked the lawyer, 
now inclined to think Miss Crompton’s mind 
really unhinged. 

“ It is not untimely,” she replied quietly, but 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS. 


277 


firmly. My plans are all made and will be car- 
ried out. We leave here tomorrow, as I said be- 
fore, and shall expect you to secure us an apart- 
ment.” 

“ Did your father suggest this movement on 
your part?” 

“ No, he did not.” 

“ Knows nothing of it ? ” 

“ No.” 

“ Would it not be well to ask his advice ?” 

“ It would be useless to do so.” 

“ Useless ? ” 

“ Yes, since we should leave here just the same 
— this scene of murder and misery. And besides, 
father must not be burdened with caring for us. 
It is for us to care for him, in so far as we shall 
be permitted to do so.” 

Perhaps you are right,” admitted the lawyer, 
seeing now the force of her position, and realizing 
that it was useless to oppose her plans further. 
“ What sort of an apartment do you want ? ” 

“ A plain, simple apartment — not showy.” 

“ In what part of the city?” 

“ In some respectable, quiet locality — away 
from the avenues — away from the homes of all 
those with whom I have always associated.” 

The time is very short,” said he, looking at 
his watch — “ eight o’clock already.” 

“ The night is before you,” replied Miss Cromp- 
ton, in cool business fashion. “ I shall depend 


278 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS. 


upon you to have submitted to me tomorrow 
morning the plans and particulars of several apart- 
ments.” 

“ I will do all that can be done for you,” said 
Mr. Cromwell, bidding her good night. 

Shortly after his departure the door bell 
sounded. Miss Crompton heard it, and asked 
herself if it were he — meaning Van Gilding, the 
thought alone sufficient to quicken the movement 
of her blood. A minute later a card was brought 
to her in formal fashion. She seized it eagerly — 
read it — Mr. J. Norman Van Gilding. A ray of 
happiness — of old time happiness — shot across 
her at the sight of this name — at the thought that 
at last he had come to her — a ray of happiness 
momentary only, for a minute later her spirits 
sank at the formal and unusual manner of his an- 
nouncement. “ It means nothing, though,” she 
argued with herself while descending the stairs to 
meet him. But she approached the reception 
room with uncertainty — with misgivings, feeling 
that if he were well enough to come to her now, 
he must have been well enough for some time past 
to write, if he had wished to do so. And, more- 
over, her faith in humanity was shaken, broken, 
gone forever, she felt at this time. 

As she entered the room, her eyes turned toward 
the right, expecting to find Van Gilding seated in 
the bay window, a favorite place with him in the 
past. But he was not there. Facing the other 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS. 


279 


way, she saw him in the extreme end of the room, 
as if he had gone there with a view to putting as 
much space as possible between himself and her. 
He had risen, and, when their eyes met, bowed 
stiffly, awkwardly, betraying much embarrassment 
in manner and heightened color. 

“ Good evening,” said Miss Crompton, not coldly, 
not warmly. 

“ Good evening,” he replied, advancing slowly. 

“ I hope your health is improved,” she continued, 
speaking as if to a comparative stranger. 

“ Yes, I am better,” he answered, drawing a 
little nearer. 

“ I have been very anxious,” she said, pausing 
suddenly, as if to study the termination of her sen- 
tence before uttering it. 

“ I came in response to your note,” stammered 
Van Gilding, paying no apparent heed to what she 
had said. 

“ So it seems,” remarked the other. 

“ This meeting between us. Miss Crompton, is 
necessarily strained and awkward,” he continued, 
working his hands nervously. 

“ Miss Crompton ! ” How cold and distant the 
words sounded from his lips — from him who had 
so often called her by endearing names. 

“ I observe that it is strained and awkward, 
whether necessarily so or not,” she answered — an 
answer that made him wince. 

“ It seems to me,” he replied, after a moment’s 


28 o 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS, 


hesitation, “ that your distinction under the cir- 
cumstances is ill timed.” 

“ Perhaps so,” said Miss Crompton, quietly add- 
ing, “ will you not be seated ?” indicating the chair 
for him to occupy. 

He complied with her suggestion, while she 
threw herself upon the sofa — the most desirable 
place, she thought, for one about to pass through 
an ordeal that would perhaps overtax her strength. 

“I am very sorry for your misfortune,” he went 
on, evidently in a hurry to bring the interview to 
a close. 

“ I appreciate your sympathy,” replied Miss 
Crompton, her heart going out to him at the slight- 
est opportunity. 

“ Of course the calamity could not have been 
foreseen by me,” he stammered, moving about in 
his chair uneasily. “ If it had,” he went on — then 
paused and stammered. “ If it had,” he repeated 
again, once more pausing. 

“ If it had ?” said Miss Crompton, holding her 
breath. 

“ If it had, our relations would have been utterly 
different.” 

“ Yes,” said Miss Crompton, struggling hard for 
composure. “But you have not finished.” 

“ If a man loses his property in speculation,” Van 
Gilding continued, speaking as if delivering a sen- 
tence he had carefully wrought out and com- 
mitted to memory, “ or it is swept away b}^ flood or 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS, 


281 


consumed by fire, he alone must bear the loss. His 
neighbors rarely — almost never — share it with 
him. The calamity is his and his alone, and he 
could not reasonably expect others to help him 
bear the burden. So, too, it seems to me that you 
cannot under the present circumstances look to me 
to fulfill my marriage engagement with you — can- 
not expect me to share your misfortune — the dis- 
grace that has fallen upon your family — something 
that I had no cause to expect when I promised to 
make you my wife. Then your name was without 
blemish ; now it is — well, you know the effect it 
would have upon mine and my family if our past 
relations were to continue. You cannot realize 
how much I regret the misfortune that necessi- 
tates this step on my part, and you cannot, I am 
sure, justly blame me for taking it — a step neces- 
sary in order that I may shield my mother, my 
sister — our old and honored family name from 
contaminating associations. I hope you will not 
think me unkind, ungenerous. I know of no 
other way than to speak plainly — words, I fear, 
that will pain you, yet which under the circum- 
stances- -the cloud that has settled over your 
family — had to be spoken in justice to myself and 
those whose interests are my interests.” 

During the delivery of this cold, cruel speech 
Miss Crompton sat with her eyes fixed upon the 
floor, her face white as marble, one hand grasp- 
ing the sofa nervously, the other pressed to her 


282 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS. 


heart as if to still the tumult — the tempest of 
emotions raging within her breast. 

“ Have you finished ?” said she, speaking as one 
dazed — one from whom all feeling had gone. 

“ Yes,” replied Van Gilding, wiping from his 
forehead great drops of perspiration. 

“ I am glad you have finished — it is over, then 
— the worst,” speaking more to herself than to 
him, “ the worst, all but one thing,” shuddering 
at the thought. “ You too have deserted me — 
— friends — associates — lover — all turned against 
me, all afraid of contamination. Oh, cruel, cruel ! ” 
she cried. 

“ But you cannot blame me,” interrupted Van 
Gilding, most ill at ease. 

“ And this is friendship — love — the love you 
gave me — the love for which I sacrificed all 
others,” she went on passionately, eloquently, un- 
heeding his remark. “ Oh, my mother, my 
mother ! ” she cried. “ Why did you leave me in 
this selfish, cruel world ? Would to God I had 
gone with thee ! ” 

While uttering these impassioned words she 
rose to her feet, tall, graceful, eloquent in figure 
and feature — the embodiment of queenly dignity. 

Van Gilding, nervous and uncertain before, 
now crouched and cowered at the burning sar- 
casm, the bitter contempt of this outraged girl. 

“ My father told me so — told me long ago, 
when first I learned to love you — told me the sort 


A TRACED Y OF ERRORS. 


283 


of man you were — unmanly and without purpose. 
I would not listen to him— would not believe his 
words — my father who loved me and would have 
died for me — so little blemish, so little of this 
cold, cruel selfishness could I see in you. Fool 
that I was, blind, innocent, trustful — the victim of 
one who recoils from me the minute an unfore- 
seen cloud descends upon our family name — re- 
coils from me as from a pestilence, fearing con- 
tamination — yes, contamination — your own words ! 
Oh, shame, shame, when manhood comes to this ! " 

“ Here is the ring which once I loved — take it, 
hide it from my eyes — the ring with which you 
pledged your love in burning, eloquent words — 
take it, take it, I say ; will you not take it, along 
with the thin, cold love you withdraw from her 
who needs it now, if ever a woman did — an honest 
love, I mean — not the crawling, policy-serving 
sort like this of yours.” 

Taking the ring. Van Gilding moved towards 
the door — aiming once or twice to speak — stam- 
mering unintelligibly with head down, the pic- 
ture of a crushed, frightened, treacherous coward. 

Not another word was spoken between them. 
Miss Crompton standing as when she finished her 
last sentence — towering to her full height — her 
eyes fixed upon him, with every feature of her 
face, every muscle of her body, expressing keen- 
est contempt and scorn for him as he gained the 
door and was lost behind it to her view. 


284 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS. 


XXVIII. 


HEN Van Gilding had gone, and Miss 



^ ’ Crompton was left alone, the reaction came, 
and she sank down upon the sofa, burying her face 
in the soft pillow. She was true to her sex — a type 
of extremes. A few moments before eloquent, for- 
cible, courageous, vehement, and now weak, pros- 
trate, sobbing, racked with the tempest of emo- 
tions — broken hearted, discouraged, dejected — 
womanly, all womanly. 

An hour passed, and still she lay there, pitiable 
in her grief, hating and loving almost at the same 
time the man who had so recently gone from her 
bearing the sting of bitter reproach. 

Her maid came to her once, twice, and was each 
time sent away. She wished to remain alone, un- 
able in her present state of mind to endure the 
presence of any one. Ten o’clock came. She was 
weak and exhausted. If ever one needed rest and 
tender care she was that one. The last four days 
had been hours of torture to her, sleepless, awful 
hours. In this time she had felt the danger that 
threatened her father, had witnessed his alarm, 
his suffering — had seen him dragged away to pri- 
son, had felt the treachery of friends, and now the 
man she loved, for whom she would have made 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS. 


285 


any sacrifice — given up even life itself — he^ too, 
shunned her — his cold, cruel Vi^ords piercing her 
very heart. There w^as no rest for her, nothing 
but anguish, misery, torture, so long as she re- 
mained in that house. She recalled her purpose 
to leave it on the morrow — her promise to work 
throughout the night with the servants. 

Nerving herself for the effort, she rose from the 
sofa, pale and haggard, her eyes swollen, but with 
grim, steadfast purpose to carry out her plan. She 
joined the servants, who were alarmed at her ap- 
pearance and made every effort to persuade her to 
take to her bed. Her aunt urged that the doctor 
be sent for, but Miss Crompton would not listen 
to this, knowing too well how ill she was, and that 
he would insist upon her abandoning her plan to 
move while in her present condition. Her mind 
was fixed upon the escape from that crime stained 
house, the tomb of her hopes, her family name, her 
love — all that was near and dear to her. 

The night dragged slowly by and the morning 
came, and still Miss Crompton kept her place with 
the servants superintending the preparations for 
moving. Mr. Cromwell was on hand early with 
the plans of apartments as requested by her. One 
glance at her haggard features startled him. In 
all his long professional career he had never before 
seen a young face so expressive of suffering as 
hers. He remonstrated with her for having re- 
mained up all night when she should have been 


286 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS. 


under the doctor’s care, and almost insisted that 
she should give up the idea of moving while in her 
present condition. But she was unyielding in her 
determination, saying that she must leave the house 
without delay, else she would never do so alive, 
for to live there in her state of mind and body 
seemed to her impossible. 

The lawyer could easily believe this from her 
appearance, and so did not oppose her further. 
The plans were submitted, and a neat apartment in 
a quiet west side street was selected. 

At three o’clock on that same afternoon Miss 
Crompton, accompanied by her aunt and maid, 
entered the family carriage and drove away from 
the scene of the tragedy, leaving forever the house 
wherein she had seen the happiest and most joy- 
ous hours of her life ; wherein a cloud of impene- 
trable gloom had settled upon her future. Less 
than a half hour later she entered her new home, 
which had speedily been made ready for her to 
take possession. Energy will accomplish much in 
a short time, and the apartment was orderly and 
comfortable when Miss Crompton first beheld it. 

“ U pleases me,” she said to her aunt. “ I hope 
you like it.” 

“Yes, new and clean and all the room we shall 
need,” replied the latter. 

“ Quite large enough, and in much better taste 
for us now,” said Miss Crompton, looking sadly 
upon the floor. 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS. 


287 


“ Yes, Lela,” replied Mrs. Woodman, seeing the 
white face of her niece grow whiter, and in an- 
other instant the heroic girl fell forward, her ex- 
hausted nature giving way completely. She was 
supported by her aunt till the servants came, 
when she was taken to the room she had selected 
for herself, and put to bed. The collapse had 
come, the reaction had set in. Her will had been 
fixed upon reaching her new home, and she had 
steeled her nerves for the effort. The point 
gained, nature refused to do more. 

In a little time the doctor came — her old phy- 
sician. She did not recognize him now in her de- 
lirium. He felt her pulse, and, learning the strain 
to which she had been put, looked very grave. It 
was evident from his manner and from the 
guarded way in which he spoke, that he consid- 
ered Miss Crompton dangerously ill. 


288 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS. 


XXIX. 


AN GILDING was inexpressibly shocked on 



^ learning of Stover’s sudden and untimely 
death. Their partnership affairs had not yet been 
settled up. A thousand or fifteen hundred dollars 
had come in before the government stopped their 
mail. From this sum Stover had paid several 
bills, leaving a balance in his hands of perhaps a 
thousand dollars, which he had promised to turn 
over to Van Gilding on the following day. It 
properly belonged to the latter, as he was respon- 
sible for the advertising, and as their agreement 
was to the effect that Stover was to receive noth- 
ing personally until all expenses had been paid. 

Migzer understood all this. Van Gilding having 
promised him a thousand dollar payment on the 
morrow — the thousand dollars that was to come 
from Stover. The latter had deposited all moneys 
received on the Home Journal to his own personal 
account — charging himself with them and giving 
the firm proper credit. The sum, then, that be- 
longed to Van Gilding could be drawn only on 
Stover’s order over his own signature, as the ac- 
count stood ; and as the latter was no longer 
signing checks, the sudden termination of his life 
left his partner in an awkv/ard predicament. 


HEKE IS THE RING WHICH ONCE I LOVED— TAKE IT, HIDE IT FROM MV EVES.”— SEE PAGE 283 






A Al 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS. 


289 


The payment had been promised to Migzer, 
who had become pressing in his demands for 
cash. The money belonged to Van Gilding, but 
how was he to get it? — would it be policy to get 
it ? These are questions upon which he dwelt 
with serious thought. It was learned that Stover 
left no will — that he had appointed no executor. 
No paper was found indicating that he owed Van 
Gilding anything. To be sure, the money on 
hand was credited to the Hoitie Journal and Wel- 
come Companion., but as he appeared before the 
public as the publisher and owner of the business, 
it was thought that the credit to the paper was 
simply designed to enable him to keep a better 
record of his business — a usual thing among such 
houses. It was clear, then, that Van Gilding 
could never receive anything from Stover’s estate 
without proving conclusively to the courts that 
he was a partner in the questionable publishing 
venture — and this he would not do for one thou- 
sand dollars or ten. 

Migzer’s surprise, too, at Stover’s death — to say 
nothing of the means by which he came to it — was 
no less than Van Gilding’s, and his regret was 
even greater, for he held the dead man’s notes for 
twenty seven thousand dollars — given by him 
only a few hours before his death. These notes 
Migzer purposed having discounted in his various 
banks on the day the tragedy was made known. 
But dead men’s paper is not bankable, and 


290 


A TRACED V OF ERRORS, 


Stover’s did not go, much to Migzer’s disappoint- 
ment ; to add to which Van Gilding now failed 
him on the promised payment. 

“ I must have money,” said Migzer to the latter, 
very much in earnest. “ You will have to raise 
some for me, or these mortgages on your property 
must be recorded. I cannot carry this load for 
you with no apparent effort on your part to help 
me.” 

Van Gilding, however, staved off the crisis until 
after Mr. Crompton’s arrest. Then Migzer, satis- 
fied that there was little to be hoped for from Van 
Gilding — that he had used him to the full extent 
of his value — without further warning had the two 
mortgages recorded. 

The much dreaded blow had fallen at last, and 
was no lighter for the delay. On the contrary, the 
intervening time had been purchased at fearful 
and awful cost. A few days more, and the first 
notes he had given Migzer would fall due. That 
the mortgages had been given and recorded was 
still unknown to his mother and sister, but the 
facts could not much longer be kept from them. 
And yet Van Gilding hadn’t the courage to make 
a clean breast of his unfortunate transactions, 

“Is there no way I can possibly escape?” he 
asked himself. “ This load is crushing me — eating 
into my very life,” he groaned, walking his room 
at dead of night. 

There was no Migzer now from whom to seek 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS. 


291 


advice. No Milkston either, the latter having 
drifted away into other circles. All Van Gilding’s 
dealings with the villainous advertising agent were 
at an end. He felt the most bitter hatred for him, 
having cringed and cowered at his feet, sacrificing 
self respect, manliness — everything to prevent the 
recording of the mortgages. But all this served 
only a temporary purpose, debasing himself alike 
before Migzer and in his own self esteem. And 
now that all was over between them — that eating 
the dust would do no more for him — he craved 
revenge on the scoundrel who had deliberately 
planned his ruin. 

On learning that the dread blow had fallen he 
went to Migzer’s office, burning with rage. There 
he was told that the latter was out of town for the 
day. He was also informed that the room he had 
occupied was now put to a different use, and that 
Migzer could no longer let him have it. This in- 
telligence made Van Gilding so furious that he lost 
his head and denounced the advertising agent to 
his clerks in bitter and graphic language. 

The next day he went again to Migzer’s place of 
business, no less wrathful than twenty four hours 
before. But now he was refused admittance to 
the office — refused an opportunity of seeing the 
man he sought, the man whose treachery had 
made him what he now was— something to be 
despised even by himself, haughty and arrogant 
though his nature was. 


292 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS, 


XXX. 

iy yj EN do many foolish things in their coolest 
moments ; under the influence of passion 
their acts are sure to be irrational. Van Gilding, 
always injudicious in matters where he should have 
shown sense and reason, now proved himself cap- 
able of equal folly when in anger. 

From Migzer’s office he went direct to the Astor 
House, where he wrote the advertising agent an ill 
advised letter, of which the following was part : 

Yesterday I called at your office, as soon as I learned of your 
treachery in having the mortgage on my property recorded. I was 
told that you were out of town for the day, which I learned from in- 
vestigation was false. You were not out of town, but skulked away 
to avoid meeting me — not having the manhood to do so. I was also 
told that you could give me desk room no longer, which shows that 
now you have robbed me of all the money I had in the world — pro- 
perty left me by my father — you want to get rid of me. Again today 
I called on you and was informed that I could not see you — could not 
enter the office even. This is monstrous, inhuman, on the part of 
one who deliberately planned my ruin for personal gain — doing all 
under the guise of friendship. I understand you now and can trace 
every generous act from your hand to that vulture’s heart of yours — 
black and cruel. 

But you have not seen the last of me. No more, hoyever, will 
your oily tongue lead me into your meshes. Our meeting will be of 
a different character — a meeting in which I shall seek redress and 
get it, else your ways will be made plain to the world. Your deceit, 
your hypocrisy, your outrageous dealings — all will be made public — 
revealing the sort of craven you are to those who now look upon you, 


A TRACED Y OF ERRORS. 


293 


as I did, as a man of most generous instincts, an ideal friend. All 
of this, I say, will be made public, unless you meet me as a man — as- 
suming the role of a man for once — and make good in so far as pos- 
sible the money you have stolen from me — make good the money and 
apologize for this outrageous treatment. 

A cold, hard smile, of something like diabolical 
exultation, revealed itself in Migzer’s face as he 
read Van Gilding’s angry note — revealed itself only 
for an instant, and vanishing, gave place to a 
dark frown. 

But he was too cunning, too wise to reply as he 
felt. He knew the folly of putting on paper what 
might at some time be used as. evidence against 
him. He was wonderfully discreet in this respect, 
as was necessary for one of his character. His 
ansvrer to Van Gilding was brief and to the point. 
In substance he said : 

I note what you say, and beg to remind you that you omitted the 
statement of your connection with the Home yoiirnal and Welcome 
Companio7i. Your partnership with the late Stover was also evi- 
dently forgotten. If you wish to meet me as suggested, I will go over 
these matters with you and arrange for putting them before the pub- 
lic. They will make racy reading. • 

This reply, so cool, so suggestive, so ominous, 
was quite enough to dissuade Van Gilding from 
following out his plans for redress or vengeance, 
as the case might have been. A brief note was 
Migzer’s, yet quite long enough to make Van 
Gilding cringe again and cower at the possibility 
of these dread facts becoming known to the 
world. By his angry letter he gained nothing, 
but lost more than he could at that time possibly 


294 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS. 


estimate. Up to that point Migzer had felt only- 
contempt for him. He knew Van Gilding’s 
weaknesses better than any other man, and had 
played upon them, gaining his own selfish ends, 
with the feeling of disgust that one of Van Gild- 
ing’s superior airs, haughty manner and foolish 
pride could be so easily led and turned this way 
and that at will. 

Up to the present time, I say, this was his feel- 
ing towards the arrogant scion of aristocracy, but 
now, pierced by cutting words and threatened 
with exposure, he-felt the fires of hatred burning 
hotly within his breast. But he could not make 
public Van Gilding’s connection with the Home 
Journal and with Stover without being drawn into 
the affair himself, and he was quite as anxious as 
Van Gilding to avoid embarrassing complications 
in a case that was attracting so much public 
attention as that of Stover’s mysterious assassina- 
tion. He did not want to feel that detectives 
were looking into his record and studying critic- 
ally his connection with the murdered man. The 
thought was not a cheering one to his mind, and 
. he was sure to let the matter rest, well hidden 
from the public gaze, if Van Gilding would do 
likewise. And there was little doubt of this, 
with the latter’s pride to guide his acts. 

“ I must discover some other means, then, of 
making him feel my contempt — to teach him that 
he cannot trifle with me. He will see the time 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS. 


295 


that he will bitterly repent having sent me this 
threatening letter — the conceited snob,” muttered 
Migzer. 

But the crafty advertising agent was too busy 
with financial matters at this time to give much 
attention to thoughts of revenge. He had been at 
work for months upon a great scheme of his own, 
of which the Van Gilding deal was but a part. In 
no less than twelve banks Migzer now had 
accounts, and in each one notes representing a 
good many thousand dollars were discounted. 
Some of these notes were genuine, gi\ en, as Van 
Gilding’s were, for money owed. But many 
w’ere what is known as accommodation paper — 
that is, notes made purposely with a view to rais- 
ing money when the maker of the note owes 
nothing. All told, Migzer had under discount 
over three hundred and fifty thousand dollars at 
this time. Much of the paper was secured from 
friends by the method of exchange. That is to 
say, Migzer would give his note for a thousand 
dollars or more, as the case might be, to Mr. A., 
in exchange for the latter’s note for an equal 
amount, Mr. A. doing this as a favor to his friend 
Migzer. With perhaps fifty persons transactions 
of this sort were made, some lending their name 
to paper to the extent of ten and even fifteen 
thousand dollars. They thought Migzer good for 
any amount. He was well rated by the commer- 
cial agencies, and it was to their interest as well 


296 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS, 


as a matter of pleasure to them to favor so gener- 
ous a friend. 

But very suddenly this generous friend, Theo- 
dore Migzer, the well known advertising agent, 
failed with liabilities close to half a million dol- 
lars — assets chiefly good will — value nothing. 
Several days before this fact was made public he 
had transferred his two mortgages on Van Gild- 
ing’s property to a sharper like himself, who was 
in league with him in this nefarious scheme. 
The large sums of money in his various banks 
were checked out just prior to the failure, and 
drawn by an alleged Wall Street broker. This 
was done to make it seem that the money had 
been sunk in speculation, while as a matter of 
fact it came back to him in a round about way 
that could not easily be detected. 

As he paid the papers nothing for the advertis- 
ing placed for Van Gilding, having purposely 
failed before the bills came due, it will be seen 
that he made out of the latter not merely the fif- 
teen thousand dollars in commissions, but a hun- 
dred thousand in round numbers. And this was 
his plan from the first when he led his victim into 
speculation, preparing the way for the great adver- 
tising scheme. The twenty odd thousand dollars 
in notes signed by Stover was accommodation 
paper. Stover did not owe this sum to Migzer, 
but loaned him his name on the promise of the 
latter to place a quantity of advertising for him 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS. 


297 


on his old line — the novelty business. Unfortu- 
nately for Migzer, but fortunately for the banks, 
Stover was murdered, otherwise these notes too 
would have been discounted, the proceeds going 
into the advertising agent’s pockets. 

As it was, they were worth something to him, 
Stover having Van Gilding’s thousand dollars in 
his own name. Migzer, therefore, transferred the 
notes to another party prior to his failure — a 
party who would collect in due time from 
Stover’s estate all available property and turn it 
over to Migzer. Thus again he bled Van Gilding 
for another thousand dollars. And his friends — 
all those who had favored him with their names 
as an accommodation merely- -they too were vic- 
tims of his cruel greed. Their notes they had to 
pay at the banks that discounted them, and being 
of course unable to realize on Migzer’s worthless 
paper, their money was practically stolen from 
them — a sum that bankrupted several and turned 
others out of their homes, forcing them to sacri- 
fice everything to meet their obligations. It was 
a pitiable sight to see his handsome house taken 
from one who had treated this scheming villain 
like a brother — to see his wife and children driven 
from it, seeking refuge in a humble flat. Never 
was scoundrel more cruel, more treacherous, 
more damnable in his cold, calculating methods, 
than this same Migzer-^the embodiment of de- 
ceit, the essence of rascality. 


298 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS. 


XXXI. 

T N a few days after Migzer’s failure Van Gild- 
^ ing’s first notes fell due. He knew the date 
of their maturity, but did nothing towards taking 
them up. Like one awaiting an impending doom, 
he went about dazed, hollowed eyed, pale and 
without appetite. His mother and sister were 
alarmed at his appearance, believing, however, 
that it was due to the sorrow he felt for the 
Cromptons — the heartache that tortured him at 
giving up the girl he had loved — an act necessary in 
their eyes as well as his, that the ancient family name 
should not suffer. But this theory was soon to be 
dispelled, for the notes for thirty three thousand 
dollars were now presented at his bank and re- 
turned unpaid — marked “ no funds.” The next 
day proceedings were commenced against Van 
Gilding’s real estate to satisfy the mortgage. The 
lawyer having charge of the Van Gilding estate, 
who knew thoroughly all the financial affairs of 
the family, was astounded when he learned this 
fact. But on investigation, which was made with- 
out delay, he found a record of the two mort- 
gages made to Migzer, aggregating one hundred 
and thirty three thousand dollars — more than 
enough to wipe out the entire property. His 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS. 


299 


blood boiled with indignation at this revelation, 
for he had been counsel and friend alike to Van 
Gilding, Senior. He lost no time in going to 
Mrs. Van Gilding to acquaint her with the facts, 
and to dKcover if possible the cause of this shame- 
ful waste of property. He hoped, too, that there 
might be some way even now to avert the disaster 
in part. It was about eleven o’clock in the fore- 
noon when he rang the bell and sent his card in to 
Mrs. Van Gilding. The latter received him cor- 
dially, though looking much troubled. 

“ I hope you are not ill this morning,” said the 
lawyer, noticing her nervous, anxious manner and 
wondering how to preface the disclosure. 

“ Not myself, but my son — he is very ill.” 

“111!” repeated Mr. Barden — for that was his 
name. 

“ Yes, ill in bed, and I am so anxious,” returned 
Mrs. Van Gilding, nervously. 

“ And the cause ” 

“This unfortunate crime, poor boy,” the mother 
continued, not waiting for Mr. Barden to finish his 
sentence. “ Nerves completely shattered, the doc- 
tor says,” she went on, wiping the tears from her 
eyes. “ The strain has been too much for him. 
He has looked like death ever since the murder 
was committed, poor boy, and he was so fond of 
her.” 

“ You have my warmest sympathy,” said the 
lawyer, debating with himself whether, with this 


300 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS. 


trouble on Mrs. Van Gilding’s mind, he should tell 
her about the mortgage. Much as he shrank from 
doing so, he felt that as her lawyer it was his duty 
to lay all the facts before her. 

“ Finding you in this trouble,” he went on, in 
sympathetic tones, “ I have hardly the heart to 
still further burden you, but I feel that I must do 
so.” 

Mrs. Van Gilding became very pale at the sound 
of these words, and grasped a chair for support. 

“ Your son’s illness,” continued Mr. Barden, “ is 
not due wholly, I imagine, to sorrow over the 
Crompton affair.” 

“ What else can it be?” asked Mrs. Van Gilding, 
too impatient to wait for the natural unfolding of 
the story. 

“ Financial difficulties,” answered tiie lawyer, 
pausing to see the effect of his words. 

“ Financial difficulties — my son ?” 

“ Yes, I think so.” 

“ I cannot realize it. There must be a mistake.” 

“ I have a statement with me that points strongly 
to such a conclusion — in fact, it makes it abso- 
lutely certain,” replied the lawyer, proceeding then 
to explain all he himself knew, which was quite 
enough to prostrate Mrs. Van Gilding. 

“ The property all gone ! ” she moaned. “ All 
gone !” her eyes fixed staringly upon the floor. 

“ Will it not be possible for me to see your son 
and learn something of the transactions ? This 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS. 


301 


man Migzer, to whom the mortgages were given, 
has just made an assignment. His failure looks 
exceedingly suspicious, quite enough so to make 
me think the man is a villain. I would like to 
know what means he took to get these mort- 
gages from your son. It is of course doubtful if 
anything could be done ; but I do not like to see 
this property go without a protest. If any portion 
of it can be saved, it should be done. Migzer him- 
self has cleared out to escape arrest, as I learn. It 
will therefore be necessary to see your son and get 
his story, if any effort is to be made.” 

Mrs. Van Gilding was so bewildered, so shocked 
at this revelation, that she .could make no reason- 
able reply. Her senses seemed to desert her en- 
tirely for a time, leaving her hysterical and in 
tears, and calling for her daughter. The latter 
came in answer to the summons, alarmed at the 
report the servant had brought of her mother. 

“Tell all to her, Mr. Barden — all, alt — you can 
do it better than I. Oh, I could not repeat it — oh, 
oh ! ” murmured Mrs. Van Gilding. 

Her daughter, a young woman of probably 
twenty eight years, though severely shocked, bore 
the report much better than could have been ex- 
pected. She seemed to possess some strength of 
character, and was evidently the ruling spirit of 
the household, her mother always depending upon 
her. 

And it was fortunate that one like her was in 


302 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS. 


the family at this time, when her brother lay toss- 
ing above stairs in delirium, and her mother was 
prostrated beside her. 

Learning at last of Van Gilding’s helpless state, 
the lawyer left the house, knowing that it would 
be both useless and unwise to see him. Nothing 
more could be done to prevent the sale of the 
property, and matters were therefore allowed to 
take their course. 

It was perhaps an hour from the time when Miss 
Van Gilding left her brother till she returned to 
him again. Then he was in a drowsy stupor ; now 
he talked incessantly — his sentences broken, dis- 
connected, and his pronunciation at times unintel- 
ligible. On discovering this, after listening a 
moment to his utterances, his sister, pale and 
startled, quickly dismissed the servant who had 
taken her place as watcher, and closed the door 
after her with unseemly haste. The keyhole, too, 
she stuffed* with cotton — the keyholes of both the 
doors of the room, that no sound might reach the 
ears of any save herself. 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS. 


303 


XXXII. 

117 1 VE days after the tragedy Miss Crompton 
^ was taken to her bed, the fires of her life 
nearly extinguished — merely smoldering. They 
had gone down so suddenly that at first it seemed 
not a spark even remained to give hope to those 
who stood over her watching with keenest solici- 
tude for the slightest sign of life. The doctor, 
skilled in knowledge of the human body, and 
whose touch was so delicate that he could detect 
the slightest vibration — he alone could say that 
she was yet alive. Evidence of this, however, he 
could not detect with his eyes, for she lay as one 
dead — colorless and without motion. During the 
first week of her illness there was little or no hope 
that her life could be saved ; but so long as the 
faintest spark remained, the good doctor toiled on 
with never flagging energy, bringing to his aid 
every means known to modern science to fan the 
smoldering embers once more into a blaze. 

At the end of ten days he began to see signs of 
improvement — a sight quite sufficient to reward 
him amply for his untiring efforts. Each twenty 
four hours now showed a gain — a barely percept- 
ible gain, for one reduced as she was, whose life 
has hung in the balance so long, does not recover 


3^4 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS. 


with a bound. She was much wasted and very weak. 
Could her father have seen her now, white as the 
white bed upon which she lay, he would scarcely 
have known her. The red cheeks, the well rounded 
form, the abounding spirits, had vanished, leaving 
her but the emaciated shadow of her former self. 
Her full, laughing eyes were now disproportion- 
ately large and inexpressibly sad. The old sweet 
smile, as natural as her very breath, was gone, 
and in its place was a subdued, sorrowful expres- 
sion — the reflection of a sad and broken heart. 
And a few weeks only had wrought this change, so 
transforming the happy joyous girl that she was 
like another being. 

Mr. Crompton in his prison cell was kept ignor- 
ant of her illness for a time, and even then was not 
informed how low she had been. He knew, how- 
ever, that she was too feeble to come to him, else 
he would surely have had a visit from her, and as 
the days passed his anxiety for her grew — his de- 
sire to see her increased. Intense as was his own 
suffering, he felt that hers had been greater. He 
knew nothing of the severed engagement — of the 
cruel manner in which it had been broken, else he 
had almost burst his prison walls and wreaked 
vengeance upon Van Gilding. 

With increasing strength Miss Crompton’s chief 
aim was to go to her father — not to parade her own 
troubles, but to console him and assure him of her 
love and desire to be with him, to sustain him in 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS. 


305 


the trial, which was close at hand. But it was two 
months and more before the doctor would permit 
her to see him — not until a good share of her 
strength had been regained. 

Van Gilding, prostrated nearly a week later 
than Miss Crompton, and like her suffering from 
the effect of shattered nerves, responded much 
more readily to the doctor’s treatment. Five 
weeks from the time he took his bed, his mother, 
his sister and himself sailed away from New York, 
bound for Europe. But he was still feeble and 
haggard and much reduced in flesh. The un- 
seemly haste of Miss Van Gilding and her mother 
to get away from New York, while their patient 
was yet so ill, was a matter of comment among 
their friends. The reason they assigned was that 
he must have a change of scene. The doctor did 
not fully agree with this view, urging the opinion 
that it was better for him to remain at least a 
few weeks more. But Miss Van Gilding was un- 
yielding in her determination, and they sailed 
away from New York while her brother was yet 
too weak to walk without assistance. 

That Van Gilding and Miss Crompton should 
be prostrated at the same time and by a similar 
cause was a peculiar coincidence, yet natural 
enough in itself and easily explained. But that 
Bainbridge should be at the boat oh which Van 
Gilding sailed is not easily accounted for. It was 
strange, inexplicable, the work of fate. 


3o6 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS. 


In all the time Bainbridge had been in New 
York, he had never before witnessed the depart- 
ure of an ocean steamer. But it so happened now 
that a friend of his was booked for a passage on 
this boat, and he went down to see him off, 
though the hour was unseasonable — six o’clock in 
the morning. Bainbridge stood on the deck near 
the gang plank, talking with his friend, when a 
close carriage drove up, and to his amazement he 
saw Van Gilding alight. Knowing nothing of the 
latter’s illness, Bainbridge was much surprised to 
see him so wasted and haggard in appearance. 
His natural impulse was to relent towards his old 
enemy, now so weak and feeble. He watched 
him closely as he moved towards the gang plank, 
supported on one side by a man and on the other 
by a woman — whom Bainbridge took to be Van 
Gilding’s sister from the resemblance she bore to 
him. 

Half way up the plank he beheld Bainbridge, 
studying his features as if to divine the cause of 
his illness. Instantly he drew back startled — a 
bitter scowl settling on his thin, emaciated face, 
and exhibiting a degree of force that his appear- 
ance would indicate he did not possess. 

The woman at his side gazed at him in wonder, 
uttering an exclamation that Bainbridge did not 
catch. The surprise over, the sick man proceeded 
up the plank, his head down, and was lost to 
Bainbridge’s sight. 


4 TRAGEDY OF ERRORS. 


307 


In a few moments the latter left the ship, the 
gang plank was lowered, and the great ocean 
racer commenced moving from her moorings. 
At this instant Bainbridge’s attention was directed 
to a man running as if to catch the steamer or to 
see some one before its departure. As the man 
came nearer, Bainbridge noted that his dress was 
slovenly and that he seemed unsteady, as if suf- 
fering from a long debauch. And now he was 
quite near. 

“ Briggs ! ” exclaimed Bainbridge, instinctively 
drawing back. “Briggs — yes, ’tis he — the same 
scar running obliquely across his right temple — 
same face, I remember it well. How strange it 
seemed to me on the night of the accident to the 
carriage that this fellow should be with Van Gild- 
ing,” he continued, musing, “ and whom does he 
want here? Van Gilding again, perhaps,” 
thought he, as he witnessed the disappointment 
shown on the fellow’s face on discovering that he 
was too late, the steamer being already thirty feet 
or more from her wharf. 


3o8 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS. 


XXXIII. 

/^N the morning set down for Mr. Crompton’s 
trial the court room was crowded almost to 
suffocation. 

The prisoner’s position in business circles and in 
society was quite enough to make him an object 
of unusual interest. The mystery surrounding the 
crime, too, and the decided opinions of the public 
— some contending that he must be responsible ; 
others claiming that they would never believe him 
capable of such an act — all this awakened a strong 
feeling in the proceedings. As many, therefore, as 
could possibly gain admittance to the scene of the 
trial thronged into the court room. Many society 
people were among the number, curious to observe 
the prisoner’s manner and to note the effect of his 
imprisonment — to see whether they could detect 
guilt or innocence in his face. They expected, 
moreover, to see Miss Crompton, the handsome 
daughter of the accused, and were anxious to dis- 
cover how she had borne the disgrace that had 
come so suddenly upon her family. 

But when they saw her enter the court room 
with Mrs.’ Woodman, her face veiled, and dressed 
in black, plainly and without ornamentation, many 
surprised glances were exchanged. 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS. 


309 


Could it be possible, they asked each other, that 
this was the Miss Crompton who had but a few 
weeks before charmed their circle with her beauty 
and vivacity ? 

A few minutes later the prisoner was brought 
in, pale and nervous. He showed plainly the 
anxiety and mental strain he had undergone since 
the crime was committed. One looking at him now 
for the first time, seeing his sad, troubled face, 
would never imagine that three months before he 
was one of the most cheerful of men, always en- 
tertaining his friends with bright stories and clever 
jokes. 

Presently the judge entered, and in a few 
moments the court was opened. Mr. Crompton 
was allowed to sit beside his counsel, and seats not 
far from him were given to his daughter and 
sister. In due time a jury was secured and sworn 
in. The clerk then read the indictment, charging 
Wilson D. Crompton with the murder of Nathaniel 
Stover. 

A presentation of the case was made by the 
District Attorney, setting forth what he should try 
to prove. Judge and jury alike watched the pri- 
soner critically during this opening speech. No one 
present could say how his manner impressed them. 
But those in the audience who had stoutly main- 
tained his inocence were surprised at his nervous- 
ness. They feared it would, at the outset, pro- 
duce an unfavorable effect on the minds of the 


310 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS. 


jury. Moreover, the latter was composed of small 
traders and mechanics, whose homes were well 
removed from Fifth Avenue, men who naturally 
had little admiration for residents of Murray Hill. 
This fact alone placed the prisoner at disadvant- 
age, though the jurymen were honest citizens, who 
could be trusted to render a verdict warranted by 
the evidence. But the human mind is so consti- 
tuted that little prejudices, if ever so slight, are 
many times difficult to overcome. They have a 
decided tendency to give to words and acts a 
meaning that they do not naturally possess. 

The District Attorney now called the first wit- 
ness. He was James McHenry, the butler in Mr. 
Crompton’s service. He testified in substance 
that he was employed by the prisoner ; that on the 
night of the tragedy he was at the house, attending 
to his duties as usual ; that at abouthalf past nine in 
the evening, within a few moments after the depart- 
ure of Miss Crompton and Mrs. Woodman, the 
door bell rang. “ I went to the door,” he con- 
tinued, “ and saw a man there, who, handing me his 
card, asked if Mr. Crompton was at home. I re- 
plied that he was, and, showing him into the 
reception room, took the card to Mr. Crompton.” 

A lawyer for the prosecution here asked if wit- 
ness had ever seen the man before. 

“ No, sir,” was the reply. 

“ Did you read the name on the card while tak- 
ing it to Mr. Crompton?” 


<4 TRACED V OF ERRORS. 


3 ” 


“ No, sir; I did not, sir.” 

“ You may proceed.” 

“ I handed the card to Mr. Crompton. He 
looked at it for a minute, and said, * Tell him I 
will be down directly.’ I started to go, and when 
I had got near the stairs he called me back, and 
said, ‘James, I think you may show him up here. 
I will not go down.’ I said, ‘ Yes, sir,’ and showed 
the man up to the library.” 

“You say,” asked the District Attorney, “that 
Mr. Crompton looked at the card for a minute, 
and then told you to tell the man he would go 
down ?” 

“ Yes, sir.” 

“ You are sure of this? ” 

“Yes, sir.” 

“ Was Mr. Crompton in the habit of looking at 
cards sent up by visitors a whole minute before 
speaking ? ” 

“ No, sir ; I cannot say as he was.” 

“ But you are quite sure that he looked at the 
card on this particular night some time — a min- 
ute, before telling you that he would go down to 
the reception room?” 

“ I can’t say, sir, that it was just a minute.” 

“ But it was some time? In other words, the 
prisoner paused before speaking?” 

“ Yes, sir.” 

“ And you are quite sure that he did not always 
do this, when other cards had been sent to him ? ” 


312 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS. 


“ Yes, sir ; I am.” 

“ Will you please say if during this pause you 
noticed any unusual expression in the face of the 
prisoner? ” 

“ He might have scowled a little, sir.” 

“ He might have, to be sure, but did he? Can 
you swear that he did not scowl ? ” 

“ I would not want to say so, sir.” 

“ You wouldn’t swear that he did not scowl?” 

“ No, sir.” 

“ Did his manner indicate to your mind that he 
was glad to see the man, or the reverse? ” 

“ I judged, sir, that Mr. Crompton didn’t care 
much about seeing the man.” 

“ You remember distinctly having this feeling?” 

“Yes, sir.” 

“ Now you could not have had this impression 
without some cause. Kindly say, therefore, what 
led you to believe that the prisoner did not want 
to see the visitor.” 

“ It must have been his manner, sir.” 

“Yes, doubtless; but will you kindly explain 
his manner to the court?” continued the District 
Attorney, pressing the witness hard. 

“ I don’t know as I can, sir, only the expression 
on his face,” replied the witness, becoming uneasy 
at the question. 

“ What was the expression ? ” 

“ It was a scowl,” admitted the butler, at last. 

Witness was now asked to state what the pris- 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS. 


313 


oner was doing in his library when the deceased’s 
card was taken to him. 

“ He was reading, sir,” was the reply. 

“ What did you do after showing the deceased 
into the prisoner’s library?” 

“ I went down into the kitchen.” 

“ Did you not notice the greeting between the 
prisoner and deceased before leaving the library ?” 

“ No, sir, I did not.” 

“ Did you hear any words spoken by either ?” 

“ No, sir.” 

“ How long did you remain in the kitchen ?” 

“ Till I was called to the library.” 

“ How were you called to the library?” 

“ By an electric bell.” 

“ Whom did you find in the library when you got 
there ? ” 

“ I found Mr. Crompton and the man I had 
shown to the library about an hour before.” 

“You were summoned to the library, then, at 
about half past ten ?” 

“ Yes, sir.” 

“ Please state the prisoner’s manner — say where 
he was and what he was doing when you entered 
the room, and also describe the position of the 
deceased.” 

“ I can’t just tell you, sir. I was so upset by 
seeing the man dead.” 

“ How did you know he was dead ?” 

“ Mr. Crompton told me so, sir, and I could see 


314 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS. 


for myself from the way his head rested on the 
table and the way his arm hung down all like a 
dead man’s, sir.” 

^ “ Where was the prisoner when you reached the 
library ?” 

“ He was standing near the door. When he saw 
me he told me that the man was dead, and pointed 
to the floor where a bloody instrument was. I 
knew then that there had been a murder, and I 
asked how it happened.” 

“And what reply did the prisoner make?” 

“ He said he did not know — that he was down 
stairs, and when he came up he found the man as 
he was v/hen I saw him.” 

“ Is this the bloody instrument you saw on the 
floor near the deceased ?” asked the lawyer, hand- 
ing Mr. Crompton’s long steel letter opener to the 
witness. 

“ It looks like it, sir.” 

After other questions on this point the District 
Attorney asked the witness to describe the appear- 
ance of the deceased. 

Witness’s powers of description were not especi- 
ally good, but evidence to the effect that the 
deceased seemed to have been drinking was got 
from him. While not so intoxicated as to walk 
unsteadily, yet his flushed face and manner was 
like that of one who had drunk too much wine. 

Witness stated that Miss Crompton’s maid and 
the up stairs girl were on the floor above at the 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS. 


315 


time the murder was committed — that the cook 
was in the kitchen with him, and that no one else, 
to the best of his belief, was in the house. He 
said that he called the two girls down directly 
after learning of the tragedy. Their manner, on 
hearing of the crime, satisfied him that they knew 
nothing of it until told by him of the facts. 

Witness could not account for the murder, as it 
was clear to his miad that no one save those already 
mentioned was in the house. 

The next witness was Mary, Miss Crompton’s 
maid. She testified that she went to her room 
directly after Miss Crompton’s departure for the 
party ; that she found there Hannah, the up stairs 
girl, who roomed with her ; that they did not leave 
their room from this time until summoned down 
stairs by James, the butler ; that she had never 
seen the deceased alive. She testified that Mr. 
Crompton’s library door was almost never closed, 
and that very loud talk in the library could be 
heard in her room with her door closed. She had 
not heard the door bell ring, she said, and did not 
know that any one was in the library with Mr. 
Crompton till the sound of voices reached her 
room. 

The fact, then, that you could hear the voices 
in the library while in your room with the door 
closed is evidence that the voices must have been 
raised to a high pitch?” asked the District 
Attorney. 


3i6 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS. 


Witness admitted that such was the case. 

Several of the jurymen exchanged suggestive 
glances at this point, and the prisoner’s counsel 
looked less happy than those for the prosecution. 

Hannah, the up stairs girl, corroborated the 
evidence of the preceding witness. Then expert 
testimony was introduced, which showed that the 
deceased had drunk freely of wine less than two 
hours before his death. This testimony confirmed 
the opinion expressed by the butler. 

Bridget, the cook, testified that James the 
butler was in the kitchen from the time he an- 
swered the door bell until summoned to the 
library by Mr. Crompton. 

This, then, made it clear that he could have had no 
hand in the crime. His whole time was accounted 
for, as was that of each of the other servants. 
And all alike testified that they had seen no 
strange person of suspicious character in or about 
the house. They were intelligent, honest appear- 
ing servants, whose testimony was so straight- 
forward that it had great force with judge and 
jury alike. It was evident that they were very 
fond of Mr. Crompton, and, while telling the 
truth,.aimed always to have their testimony show 
as little against him as possible. This fact was 
noted by the jury, to the detriment of the prison- 
er’s cause. 

But their evidence, notwithstanding their pur- 
pose to shield him, all tended to the belief that he 


. A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS. 


317 


committed the crime, since no facts were brought 
out to show how it could have been perpetrated 
by another. 

And now the prisoner’s career from childhood 
was dragged into the case, introducing testimony 
that consumed two full days. The quarrels he, 
like other boys, had had with playmates, were 
graphically told, with the view of showing that his 
temperament was, impetuous, uncontrollable, 
when suddenly angered. From boyhood the 
prosecution passed on to his stay in Woodville, 
bringing out testimony of a damaging nature. 
The engagement to Rachel Hargrave was dwelt 
upon at length. Keen detectives had dug their 
way to the very bottom of the affair, and were on 
hand with witnesses so biased that the story Mr. 
Crompton told his daughter of the romance was 
almost unrecognizable beside that made up from 
their testimony. Big Jim Smith, who had been a 
rival with Stover for Rachel Hargrave’s hand, 
was put on the witness stand. He remembered 
the affair perfectly, giving all the details that the 
court would admit. According to his testimony, 
there was ill feeling between himself and the de- 
ceased for a time after the latter proved victorious 
in the contest for the girl’s hand. But when the 
prisoner stepped in between deceased and Miss 
Hargrave, then Stover came to the witness, telling 
him of his troubles. Deceased felt crushed at the 
loss of Miss Hargrave’s affections, and blamed 


3i8 


A TRACED Y OF ERRORS. 


prisoner for winning her away from him. De- 
ceased was fondly attached to her, and claimed 
always afterward that had he married her his 
whole life would have been different. Disap- 
pointed and disheartened, he took to drink, left 
Woodville and followed the sea for a number of 
years. Deceased never married, and led a more 
or less irregular life from the time prisoner won 
his sv^reetheart away from him. Deceased had of- 
ten talked the matter over with witness and blamed 
the prisoner for doing as he did. Witness testified 
that a bitter feeling existed between deceased and 
prisoner when the engagement between Stover 
and Miss Hargrave was first broken off. Unkind 
remarks of both deceased and prisoner were 
admitted as evidence. Witness’s memory was 
wonderfully retentive on all these matters, and 
his testimony was corroborated by others of 
the Woodville settlement. The prisoner’s manner 
of breaking off the engagement between himself 
and Rachel Hargrave was aired in court. Con- 
tending lawyers wrangled over all these points, 
but generally the prosecution succeeded in bring- 
ing out the facts, whether admitted in evidence or 
not. And if ruled out by the judge, the simple 
story was not without its effect upon the jury. 
That the prisoner should deliberately plan, as it 
appeared from the testimony, to break the engage- 
ment between the girl and deceased, and then 
adopt a clever scheme to break it between himself 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS. 


319 


and her, served to strengthen the prejudice against 
him that already lurked in the minds of the twelve 
jurymen, tinging all the evidence with a darker 
hue. 

A letter was found in deceased’s effects from the 
prisoner. It was written only the day before the 
tragedy was committed. It ran as follovv^s : 

Dear Sir, — I have thought over very carefully your request for a 
loan of money, but I cannot think it advisable to let you have it. 
Twice you have borrowed money from me before, and have failed to 
return it as agreed. I know of no reason why I should gwe you 
money, for lending it to you amounts to the same thing as giving. 
Had you returned the other loans, you would have shown yourself 
worthy of my confidence. Your statement holding me responsible 
for your unsuccessful career, on the ground that I caused the engage- 
ment between you and Miss Hargrave to be broken off, is not credit- 
able to you. It shows very little strength of character, very little of 
the manly quality. I decline to give you money on such grounds, or 
to think myself responsible in any way for your shortcomings. That 
Miss Hargrave preferred me to you was her affair, and not yours. I 
wish, therefore, that you would not annoy me further about the matter. 
The money you owe me you can keep, and welcome, only don’t ask 
me for any more. T am too busy to give you any more time, so write 
this letter that you may understand the situation. But before 
closing it, I w'ill take the liberty to suggest that if you would let 
your “schemes ” alone, and avoid the use of liquor, you could earn 
at some honest employment sufficient money to keep you from the 
necessity of borrowing. 

Yours truly, 

Wilson D. Crompton. 

Letters get many people into trouble. They 
furnish telling evidence, which cannot without 
great difficulty be disproved. This letter, signed 
by the prisoner — written just previous to the com- 
mittal of the crime — taken in connection with all 


320 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS. 


the other testimony, was quite enough to make 
the defense quake wdth fear. The prisoner had 
followed the testimony with keen, business-like 
intelligence, and he was for the most part as- 
tounded at the evidence submitted. Every act of 
his whole life, every jest or thoughtless remark, 
now seemed to spring up from the earth, like a 
ghostly skeleton, to damn him. And all these little 
acts and idle speeches, now that the finger of suspi- 
cion was pointed at him, were like small hempen 
strands — tiny, frail things of themselves, but 
which, combined with others and skillfully ar- 
ranged, would weave a cord of sufficient strength 
to hang him. 

And now the prosecution rested their case, hav- 
ing accumulated evidence from all the quarters of 
the earth, as it were. The trial had been on four 
days, and thirty witnesses and more had given 
testimony against the prisoner. ' How many more 
were there in the world, he wondered, who could 
add still other touches of black to his well 
blackened reputation ! Until the night of the 
tragedy he did not know that any one save the 
deceased could truly say an unkind word of him ; 
but now, alas ! how many there were to give 
graphic testimony to the ugly flaws in his char- 
acter. 

With mingled feelings of shame and resentment 
at beholding himself as he had been painted — hot 
tempered, selfish, cruel — he took the witness chair 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS, 


321 


in his own defense. Curiosity was warmed to a 
degree of intense interest. The prosecution had 
made out so strong a case that even those who had 
stoutly maintained the innocence of the prisoner, 
now wavered in their faith, and admitted, in sup- 
pressed whispers to close by friends, that the out- 
look was dark — almost hopeless. But they trusted 
that he might be able to say something for himself 
that would overcome the effect of the combined 
testimony of the other side. 

There was less certainty in his manner than at 
the commencement of the trial. He had lost 
faith in humanity, while listening to evidence that 
made him the thing he was not. He knew the 
true history of his childhood wrangles, of the love 
affair with Rachel Hargrave. As he had told his 
daughter about the romance, so it was, but now 
how different it appeared, as given by others and 
heightened in effect by the suspicion that rested 
upon him ! He began almost to doubt his own 
senses — to think the whole thing was some horri- 
ble nightmare. But this was dispelled when he 
took the witness chair and with one hasty glance 
at the audience saw many familiar faces, their 
eyes fixed upon him as if they would read the 
secret of his very heart. He shuddered at the 
thought and looked down for an instant, then 
glanced cautiously at the faces of his daughter 
and her aunt. Both were thickly veiled, but he 
fancied that they were pictures of despair, and 


322 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS. 


drew a long breath, suggestive of his own depres- 
sion. This nervousness passed off somewhat 
when he had commenced testifying, but not soon 
enough to escape the bad effect it produced upon 
the jury. He stated that he was at his home and 
alone in his library when the card of deceased 
was brought to him as described by James the 
butler. 

“ I was annoyed that the man should come to 
my house to see me,” he went on, “ when I had 
written him only the day before, stating plainly 
that I could not let him have any more money. 
My first thought was to go down to the reception 
room and get rid of him as quickly as possible. 
But after a minute’s deliberation, I called the 
butler and told him to bring deceased to my 
library. Presently the man came up, his face 
much flushed and presenting the appearance of 
one who had been drinking — not one who was in- 
toxicated, but who had perhaps drunk a good 
deal of wine at dinner. 

“ I said ‘ good evening,’ rather coldly, and 
asked him if he did not get my letter. 

“ ‘ Yes,’ he replied, sitting down without receiv- 
ing an invitation to do so. 

“ Till then I had remained standing, hoping to 
cut the interview short, but seeing that he had 
evidently come to stay for some time, I took a 
chair on the opposite of the table from him. 

“‘Yes, I got your letter,’ he went on, ‘and 


A TRACED y OF ERRORS. 


323 


called at your office today to see about it, but was 
refused admittance.’ 

“ ‘ I am aware of that,’ I replied,*' as your card 
was handed to me by one of my clerks.’ 

“ ‘ I suppose so,’ he said, a trifle angrily. 

“ ‘ My letter and my refusal to see you today 
should be sufficient to make you understand that 
I cannot be bothered with your requests for 
money,’ I replied^ 

" ' But if it hadn’t been for you, I wouldn’t be 
here now,’ he went on. ‘You stole- the girl away 
from me that would have been my wife. With 
her I would have been a different man — wouldn’t 
have taken to drink, which I did to try to forget 
her. And now you tell me you won’t help me af- 
ter causing my ruin — won’t lend me a little 
money to get started with in something that will 
pay me.’ 

“ ‘ Stover,’ I said, ‘ I’m ashamed of you. You 
have no right to make such charges.’ 

“‘Didn’t you do it?’ he demanded, his voice 
becoming elevated, ‘ didn’t you do it?’ 

“ ‘ Enough of this nonsense, Stover,’ 1 replied, 
sharply. ‘ I will not have it in my house.’ 

“ ‘ But it is a fact,’ he continued, much excited, 

‘ a fact that you stole her from me, and you can’t 
deny it.’ 

“ I did not care to have matters of this sort dis- 
cussed so loudly that the servants could hear 
what was said. I therefore thought it advisable 


324 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS, 


to quiet him. ‘And you hold me responsible for 
your failure in life, simply because you didn’t 
marry the girl you loved ? ’ 

“ ‘ Yes, I do,’ was the decisive answer. 

“ ‘ Do you think such a statement is manly, 
Stover?’ I asked, looking him steadily in the eye. 

“ ‘ It is manly enough to suit me,’ he muttered. 

From this point witness continued his testi- 
mony, repeating the conversation between himself 
and deceased, stating that after a while he 
yielded to the latter’s request for a further loan of 
money. 

“ I turned to my desk, then,” he went on, “ to 
write a check for deceased. My check book was 
not there. I looked in several drawers for it, and 
could not find it. It suddenly occurred to me 
that I had written a check while at the dinner 
table. The book had been brought to me there. 
‘ Excuse me a minute,’ I said, ‘ while I run down 
stairs and get my check book.’ I remembered 
placing it on the mantel beside the clock when I 
left the dinner table. When I reached the dining 
room and turned on the gas, I found it where I 
had left it. With it were several letters that had 
come by the late delivery, and were handed me 
while I was at my dinner. One of them was from 
deceased. I had opened it with the others, and 
seeing the signature, and assuming that I knew 
the nature of its contents, had concluded not to 
read it while at dinner. From that time until de- 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS. 


325 


ceased’s card was handed to me I thought no more 
of his letter, my mind being much absorbed in a 
book I was reading. But seeing the letter now, I 
decided to read it before returning up stairs to the 
presence of deceased.” 

The letter was here put in evidence. It was 
long, and practically a repetition of deceased’s 
plea for money, holding the prisoner responsible 
for his unsuccessful career. The postmark on the 
envelope indicated that the letter should have 
reached the prisoner about the time stated. 

“The reading of the letter,” continued the pri- 
soner, “ occupied several minutes, and as much more 
time was spent by me in deliberation. I was pro- 
voked at the man’s charges, and felt inclined even 
now to refuse him the money he asked for. Just 
how long I was away from the library I cannot 
say. I should estimate that ten minutes would cover 
the time. When I returned, I saw deceased, his 
head resting on the table, his right hand a little 
removed from it, and his left hanging over the side 
of the table. My first thought was that he had 
become drowsy, as the effect of the liquor he had 
drunk died out, and that he had fallen asleep. 
Acting on this supposition, I called him by name 
and went to him, placing my hand on his shoulders 
to rouse him. But when I reached his side and 
beheld his ghastly features, I became alarmed. 
His appearance was that of a dead man. I turned 
from deceased to ring for the butler, with a view 


326 


A TRACED V OF ERRORS. 


to summoning medical aid. As I did so, my eyes 
fell upon something upon the floor. I picked it 
up. ‘ My God ! ’ I said to myself, ‘ what is this ? — 
my letter opener smeared with blood.’ I could 
not believe my own eyes — dead, murdered, how, 
by whom ? These thoughts rushed upon me as I 
dropped the bloody instrument upon the floor 
with a shudder of horror. Then I pressed the 
button, summoning the butler. I hardly knew 
what to do. This awful thing had come upon me 
so suddenly that I was staggered, bewildered, be- 
side myself almost — questioning my own reason.” 

• From this point the prisoner’s testimony was 
substantially the same as that given by the butler, 
with the further statement that a physician was at 
once called in and that the authorities were notified 
of the crime. 

Cross questioned by prosecution, prisoner ad- 
mitted that he felt very angry toward deceased for 
coming to his house and for trying to raise money 
on the plea he put forth ; that their voices were 
elevated, both being more or less excited at one 
time in the discussion. 

On this matter of anger the prosecution dwelt at 
length, bringing out, by cleverly phrased questions, 
little points and shades of meaning, suggesting 
that the quarrel between prisoner and deceased 
was much more bitter than witness was willing to 
admit. 

Leaving this part of the testimony, the prosecu- 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS. 


327 


tion pressed witness for a satisfactory reason for 
deciding finally to give deceased the money. 
“Your letter to deceased stated distinctly that 
you would not give him any more money,” said 
the District Attorney, “ and now, according to 
your testimony, you sought your check book with 
the view ot drawing a check for him. What ex- 
planation can you give to the court of this change 
in your mind ?” 

Witness hesitated and answered evasively, 
whereupon the question was repeated sharply. 

“ I might have yielded to his persuasion,” an- 
swered witness, evidently embarrassed and dis- 
tressed by the District Attorney’s manner. 

“ I do not want to know what you might have 
done,” returned the lawyer severely. “ I wish you 
to say what you did do. Now, was there or was 
there not a cause that led you to change your 
mind to such a degree that you were willing to 
give deceased the money he asked of you ? ” 

“ I cannot say that there was any definite 
cause,” replied the witness. 

“ Will you tell me, sir, if in your business career 
you have been in the habit of changing your 
mind in this way, drawing checks without appar- 
ent reason for doing so?” continued the clever 
cross examiner. 

“ I cannot say that I have.” 

“ Have you, or have you not?” 

“ I have not.” 


328 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS. 


“ You have not ? 

“ No, sir.” 

“ But with the deceased — a man who had 
annoyed you as he had, who had no claim upon 
you, one who already owed you money, whom you 
had distinctly refused to aid further — in the case 
of such a man you change your mind, and pro- 
pose giving him a check, and yet are unable to 
say just why you proposed doing so. Is this not 
peculiar ? ” 

The answer to this question and to those that 
followed upon the same point was in effect that no 
specific cause led witness to change his mind, but 
that he decided to do so partially from kindly im- 
pulse, partially with a view to getting rid of de- 
ceased — to save further annoyance. 

“ Is this kindly impulse to which you refer,” 
said the District Attorney, sarcastically, “ the feel- 
ing you usually have for those who annoy you?” 

The prisoner’s reply was indefinite, and of a 
character to strengthen the case against him. 

The purpose of the prosecution evidently was 
to discredit his testimony to the effect that he 
yielded to deceased’s request for money. Much 
time was put upon this point, and not without 
good effect. 

“You testified that you asked to be excused 
while you ran down stairs for your check book ? ” 

“ I did.” 

“ Was not this an unusual proceeding, to leave 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS. 


329 


a guest and go yourself for something that could 
have been brought by a servant?” 

“ Yes, perhaps it was.” 

“ Was it your custom to do things of this sort?” 

“ It was not.” 

“ But you say that you did so on the night that 
deceased was murdered?” 

Yes, I did.” 

“ Could you not have easily summoned a ser- 
vant to bring the book to you ? ” 

“ Yes.” 

“ But you did not do so ? ” 

“ No.” 

“ Can you give any reason for going yourself in 
this instance, instead of summoning a servant to 
bring the book ?” 

“ No, I cannot.” 

“ But ordinarily, if you had a guest with you in 
your library, and wanted something from below 
stairs, would you go for it yourself or ring for a 
servant to bring it?” 

“Ordinarily I suppose that I should ring for a 
servant to bring it.” 

“ But you can in no way account for the fact 
that you did not do so on this night?” 

“ I cannot, more than to say that it happened as 
it did,” replied the prisoner, wearily. 

Many more questions followed, and finally the 
matter of reading deceased’s letter while down 
stairs was reached. Legal skill was put to its 


330 


A TRACED Y OF ERRORS. 


severest test on this point to discredit the state- 
ment. With the fierce wrangling of opposing 
counsel, fully two hours were spent upon this 
portion of the testimony alone. When it was all 
over, and the prisoner stepped down from the wit- 
ness stand, the feeling among the audience was 
that Mr. Crompton was a doomed man. His testi- 
mony for the most part was straightforward, and 
given with seeming honesty. But once in the 
hands of the keen prosecution, his statements as- 
sumed a darker hue. 

It was evident that they did not believe his 
story about going down stairs for the checkbook, 
and they made a strenuous effort to break it down. 

The butler was recalled, and testified that the 
check book was taken to the prisoner while he (the 
prisoner) was at dinner. He also stated that three 
letters came for the prisoner on the late delivery 
at about seven forty five ; that they were handed 
to him while he was dining. He did not know 
whether prisoner read them or not. He did 
not know what was done with check book and 
letters. Did not see prisoner put them on the 
mantel, though he might have done so without 
witness’s knowledge. Never saw them again in 
dining room. Did not hear prisoner or any one 
in dining room while he was below stairs at the 
time prisoner testified he was there. 

All the other servants were put upon the stand 
again, and each testified that she heard no one 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS. 


331 


passing up and down the stairs or in the hall way. 
The cook said she had noticed no sound of foot- 
steps in the dining room at the time prisoner testi- 
fied he was there. He might have been there 
without her hearing him, but usually she could 
detect steps on the dining room floor. 

A number of witnesses were put upon the stand 
who testified to prisoner’s previous good character. 
The defense now announced that their evidence 
was all in, and, it being late in the day, the judge 
adjourned court until the morrow. 

This sudden termination of the testimony 
caused a murmur of disappointment on the part of 
the society people who had watched the trial from 
the first. They had expected to see Miss Cromp- 
ton put upon the witness stand. The heavy veil 
she wore had never been lifted. They had watched 
eagerly for a sight of her face, but she did not 
gratify their curiosity. They contented them- 
selves, however, with the belief that she was sure 
to testify in her father’s behalf, and then she could 
no longer veil her features. But she knew nothing 
that had any material bearing on the case, as she 
was away from the house at the time the crime was 
committed. And moreover her father instructed 
his counsel not to place her upon the stand, feeling 
that her testimony could do him no good, and 
wishing to save her from the rude glances of the 
crowded court room. 


332 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS, 


XXXIV. 



HE interest in the case of Mr. Crompton, 


great as it had been on the previous days 
of the trial, reached a climax on the morning al- 
lotted to the closing arguments of opposing coun- 


sel. 


The prisoner was haggard and worn. His 
manner was peculiarly nervous, and he showed 
evident traces of the severe mental strain to 
which he had been put. Now and again he spoke 
to his counsel — suggesting a thought for consid- 
eration. But for the most part his eyes were fixed 
upon the floor, his head bent, his brow wrinkled 
as if in troubled thought. In a word, his appear- 
ance was pathetic, so hopeless was the expression 
of his face. 

Miss Crompton and her aunt were not in the 
court room. The prisoner had requested that 
they should remain at home. He wanted to spare 
them from listening to the argument of the pros- 
ecution, which he knew would paint him as black 
and cruel — as oiie with a bitter, distorted nature. 
He preferred that his daughter should not see 
him through the prejudiced eyes of the prosecu- 
tion. Moreover he dreaded the verdict of the 
jury. It seemed to him that the strands of cir- 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS. 


333 


cumstantial evidence had been wound about him 
so tightly that escape was almost impossible. He 
could not endure the thought that his daughter 
should hear the jury pronounce her father guilty, 
and such would be the verdict, he felt almost cer- 
tain. She had urged that she should be allowed 
to accompany him, but yielded to his request, 
feeling that she could not refuse the slightest wish 
of his. 

Mr. Cromwell, the pftisoner’s senior counsel and 
lifelong friend, made the plea for the defense. 
He reviewed the evidence critically, putting his 
interpretation upon it. “ And regarding the pris- 
oner’s stay in Woodville,” said he, “why, it is ab- 
surd to drag these incidents into the case — inci- 
dents that occurred nearly a quarter of a century 
before. Any hostility that might have existed be- 
tween deceased and prisoner at that time, grow- 
ing out of the Crompton-Hargrave romance, had 
ceased to exist years ago.” 

The lawyer argued that as no quarrel between 
deceased and prisoner had ever taken place, the 
alleged hostility could at no time have been very 
bitter; that the fact that deceased had been to 
prisoner for favors, and that the latter had on two 
occasions granted them, was conclusive evidence 
that the old feeling had died out. It was very 
easy to magnify such matters, he argued, especi- 
ally when for any cause one had had the finger of 
suspicion pointed toward him. 


334 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS, 


Leaving this point, the lawyer passed to the 
consideration of the letter written by Mr. Cromp- 
ton to deceased on the day before the tragedy. 
He claimed that it was in no way extraordinary ; 
that it was just such a letter as any man would 
naturally write to one who had borrowed money 
from him and failed to return it. 

“ And if it is such,” said he, “ it should have no 
bearing on this case. Suppose, gentlemen,” he 
went on, impressively, “ that this crime had been 
committed down town, or anywhere save in the 
prisoner’s house — suppose such had been the case, 
I say, is there anything in the evidence submitted 
— is there so much as a word in all the testimony 
that would suggest to your minds that the pris- 
oner had anything to do with the crime? I am 
sure there is not, for you are reasonable men. 
Why, gentlemen,” he continued, with much force, 
“ the case of the prosecution rests entirely upon 
circumstantial evidence. Not so much as one 
word of direct testimony has been introduced that 
implicates the prisoner.” 

That the jury might understand how misleading 
and deceptive circumstantial evidence is — with 
what allowance it should be taken — he quoted a 
dozen cases where testimony of this kind had 
secured the prisoner’s conviction, when, as it was 
afterwards proved, he was innocent of the crime 
with which he was charged. 

The prisoner’s home life and his standing in the 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS. 


335 


community were considered and discussed with 
much effect. Then followed an extraordinary ap- 
peal for acquittal, urging the jury to think well 
before taking upon themselves the responsibility 
of destroying a human life. With this the lawyer’s 
argument closed. It was a clear, manly review of 
the facts, with careful, well grounded deductions. 
There was warmth and soul in his manner, and, 
as he referred to the desolate home, and pictured 
how horrible is the conviction of an innocent man 
to death, there were few dry eyes in the crowded 
court room. 

Seldom had any one pleaded for the life of a 
friend with greater earnestness and with deeper 
feeling than the veteran attorney showed on this 
occasion. But from first to last he felt the disad- 
vantages under which he was laboring, for to a 
trained lawyer of his experience it was easy to see 
that the jury had virtually fixed upon a verdict 
before the opening of his argument. 

Mr. Cromwell was followed almost immediately 
by a lawyer named Brentwood, who was to make 
the closing argument for the prosecution. He 
was an especially strong pleader — a man of fine 
address and extraordinary command of language. 
He commenced his argument by ridiculing the 
theories and deductions of his opponent, and by tak- 
ing the ground that circumstantial evidence is less 
liable to be misleading than any other. He admitted 
the genuineness of the cases cited by his opponent 


33 ^ 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS, 


to prove the danger of convicting on circumstan- 
tial evidence, but went on to show that it was a 
rare exception when justice miscarried from this 
cause. 

“If you should see a man,” said he, “steal up 
behind another and deliberately stab him, your 
testimony would be direct evidence — the only 
evidence, according to the theory of my learned 
and eloquent friend, that it is safe to rely upon. 
But suppose you were to come on the scene just 
in time to see the assassin standing over the pros- 
trate form of his victim with stiletto still in hand 
and stained with blood, then your evidence would be 
merely circumstantial. You could not swear that 
he committed the crime, as you did not see him in 
the act, and yet to your mind there would be no 
doubt of his guilt. But if circumstantial evidence 
is to be disregarded — treated, as dangerous and 
unreliable — the murderer would go unpunished. 
Not one criminal in a hundred is found guilty on 
direct evidence. Circumstantial evidence is the 
great safeguard of the public — the only avenue to 
the assassin’s lair. Disregard it, and our deserted 
prisons will stand as the gloomy monuments of 
our folly, while the land flows with innocent 
blood.” 

Passing on to the consideration of the evidence, 
he dwelt upon that portion relating to the tempera- 
ment of the prisoner. Much had been made of 
this point by the District Attorney in bringing 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS. 


337 


out the testimony, but to the silver tongued 
speaker was left the work of giving it color and 
reality — of showing the volcanic nature of the boy 
Crompton. His early quarrels with playmates 
were drawn so cleverly, contrasting his turbulent 
spirit with the mild, yielding nature of much 
abused companions, that even then, far back in 
the prisoner’s boyhood, he stood out to the imagi- 
nation as almost a young fiend — cruel, hot temp- 
ered and overbearing. But these scenes of the 
prisoner’s early youth did not afford the orator 
the play for his genius that he found in the Wood- 
ville episode. Now he was at his best, earnest, 
eloquent, pathetic, as he recited the history of the 
prisoner’s entrance into the Hargrave home. 
Could one have heard the story as told by Mr. 
Crompton to his daughter and listened to it again 
as it fell from the orator’s lips, he would never 
have recognized it as the same. Then it was re- 
lated simply, without aim at effect, but now it was 
colored, twisted and distorted till the prisoner’s 
character became the embodiment of cunning sel- 
fishness — a thing so crooked and deformed as to 
be shunned by all honest men. The feeling be- 
tween deceased and the prisoner was taken up 
and discussed at length, with the purpose of 
showing that it was still bitter at the time of de- 
ceased’s death. 

Every act in the prisoner’s life, and every jest or 
idle remark that could be turned to the portrayal 


338 


A TEAGED V OF ERROES. 


of such a character as the prosecution sought to 
build for him, had been dragged into the trial as 
evidence. They were commented upon by the 
speaker, and exhibited to the eye in so delusive 
a light as to appear black and even hideous in 
purpose. 

The various views of the prisoner’s character 
from boyhood to the present time, as drawn and 
colored by the speaker, were gathered together by 
him, and photographed with clear rhetoric into 
one composite pictiwe, producing a type of face 
that might well cause a shudder. 

“ Now, keeping in mind this likeness, gentle- 
men,” said he, “ will you kindly come with me to 
the scene of the tragedy ?” 

Here the speaker went over the evidence and 
made a strong argument to show the improbabi- 
lity of the prisoner’s testimony regarding his 
decision to give deceased money. The story of 
prisoner going down stairs for a check book and 
stopping to read a letter was ridiculed. Much 
was made of the evidence of the servants to 
the effect that loud voices were heard in their 
room, issuing from prisoner’s library, and the 
steel letter opener — the property of deceased — 
smeared with blood, was handled with masterly 
effect. 

“ The evidence shows,” said he, ‘‘ that de- 
ceased must have been murdered by the prisoner, 
or else by some one outside of the prisoner’s 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS. 


339 


house. And from the testimony, and in the 
opinion of the servants, it would seem utterly ir- 
rational to assume that some one from outside 
entered the house unseen, and committed the crime 
during the few moments which passed, as the 
prisoner testifies, while he was down stairs. The 
defense have utterly failed to show any motive for 
murdering deceased on the part of any one save 
the prisoner. But even granting that some one 
had a motive, is it reasonable, gentlemen, to sup- 
pose the assassin would follow deceased to the 
prisoner’s house, that he would be able to gain 
admittance, that he would go to the prisoner’s 
library just at the instant when he (the prisoner) 
was out of the room for a few moments only ; 
take prisoner’s letter opener, stab deceased to his 
death, leave the house quietly, unobserved by any 
— doing the whole thing in less than ten minutes — 
the time the prisoner testifies he was away from 
the library.? Why, such a theory is too absurd 
for consideration — utterly irrational and without 
substance. And yet, according to the testimony, 
gentlemen, the crime was either committed in this 
way, or else by the prisoner.” 

The speaker continued at length on this point, 
and discussing his theory of the murder. He held 
that deceased had drunk just enough wine to be 
reckless ; that he was angered at prisoner’s letter, 
and again provoked at prisoner’s refusal to see him 
at the latter’s office, and that in this mood deceased 


340 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS. 


and prisoner quarreled ; that deceased became so 
provoking in taunts and manner that prisoner, with 
his hot tem.per and already bitter feelings for de- 
ceased, while in a fit of passion snatched up his 
letter opener and stabbed the deceased. 

“ This is a reasonable theory, and the only 
reasonable one of the killing,” said the speaker ; 
“ and in matters of this kind we are supposed 
to get at facts through reason. It can be done 
in no other way. But my learned friend who 
preceded me, while offering no explanation of the 
crime, rests his case on what he was pleased to term 
‘the excellent character’ of the prisoner. It was 
beyond belief, he argued, to suppose the latter 
capable of committing such a crime. But, gentle- 
men, let me ask you if to your minds it is so un- 
reasonable, when you trace the prisoner’s career 
and learn his temperament ?” 

With a final appeal to the jury to perform their 
duty as men upon whom a great responsibility 
rested — urging them to be guided by the evidence 
and reason alone — to forget the pathetic features 
of the case — with this the speaker closed his 
argument. 

The judge reviewed the evidence carefully and 
impartially. In his charge to the jury neither 
side could say that he favored the other. At the 
close of his remarks the jury went out. Court 
was then adjourned for two hours. 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS. 


341 


XXXV. 

A A rHEN the court was reconvened it was found 
^ that the jury had agreed upon a verdict. 
The prisoner watched them as they filed in, the 
foreman in the lead. He tried to read the verdict 
from their faces, but could not. 

“ Gentlemen of the juiy, have you agreed upon 
a verdict?’’ said the clerk. 

“ We have, sir,” the foreman replied. “ We find 
the defendant guilty of murder in the second 
degree.” 

The court room was as still as death while the 
verdict was rendered. The prisoner listened to 
the words without flinching. He was as motion- 
less as a statue. With the exception of seeming a 
shade whiter there was no change in his appear- 
ance. It was plain that he had not expected ac- 
quittal. If the verdict had been murder in the 
first degree, it is doubtful whether he would have 
cared. The one to him was as much as the other. 
His hopeless, utterly crushed manner showed 
this. It was so sad and pathetic that court and 
audience alike partook of the feeling. There was 
not a face in the room that did not show pity and 
seem to say, “ I wish the verdict had been differ- 
ent.” And yet no one disputed that it had been 


342 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS. 


rendered according to the evidence. Many had 
expected that it would be murder in the first de- 
gree, and they felt grateful when they heard the 
last words of the verdict, which removed all fear 
of capital punishment. 

Mr. Cromwell, the senior counsel for the pris- 
oner, was visibly affected. He had labored hard 
to clear his friend, whom he believed to be inno- 
cent of the crime, and the result of the trial pained 
him deeply. He made a motion for a new trial. 
This was denied by the judge, who almost imme- 
diately sentenced the prisoner to hard labor in 
Sing Sing for the rest of his natural life. 

Counsel for the prisoner then appealed to the 
supreme court on what they claimed to be errors 
in the trial, and obtained a stay of proceedings. 
The case was heard at the May term, and the ver- 
dict of the lower court was sustained. Next an 
appeal to the court of appeals was made. In the 
latter part of November an opinion was received 
from this, the last court to which the case could 
be taken. It affirmed the opinion of both the 
lower courts, and the prisoner stood convicted. 

Every possible effort had been made to save 
him, but all proved unavailing. The following 
day after the opinion came from the court of ap- 
peals he was sent to Sing Sing to commence his 
life sentence. 

He had lain in Ludlow Street jail up to now, 
during which time he was allowed to see his 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS. 


343 


daughter and sister at frequent intervals. These 
visits from them, together with the hope that 
favorable results might be had from the appeals to 
higher courts, were all that kept him up, but even 
as it was he was but a shadow of his former self. 
The old smile had gone forever, it seemed. The 
gloom had settled so thickly upon his life that no 
ray of sunshine ever penetrated it — a pathetic, 
sad, cheerless existence was all that remained to 
him. 

And this effect had been brought about not 
alone by his incarceration and the blight it had 
put upon his family, but by the entire collapse of 
all his business enterprises. When he was ar- 
rested some twelve months before, he was counted 
a rich man. His interests were in fact large and 
diversified. With bold tendencies and restless 
spirit, he W'ent into many enterprises, putting in 
money and becoming responsible in some cases for 
large amounts of indebtedness. In these ven- 
tures he found pleasure. The dull routine of 
banking was not to his taste, though that was his 
chief business. But his mind dwelt largely upon 
the bold enterprises which he had undertaken. 
Associated with him in these were good men for 
details — good men to serve under an executive 
mind — and his was that mind. When he was 
charged with crime and dragged off to jail he was 
no longer able to manage these various enter- 
prises. The fact, too, that the leading spirit in 


344 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS. 


them should be charged with the crime of crimes 
brought them into disrepute. His associates 
lost heart. Money was needed to save them, but 
could not be raised. No one wanted to touch the 
enterprises of an assassin. They promised great 
results, but involved the use of enormous capital. 
Mr. Crompton, with his reputation and acquaint- 
ance among moneyed men, had had no difficulty 
in floating the paper of the concern. But now it 
was all changed. There was no longer an execu- 
tive mind to direct affairs. 

The result of all this was that Mr. Crompton, 
who thought himself a millionaire when he was 
arrested, proved, when taken to Sing Sing, to be a 
bankrupt. The odium of an assassin had 
blighted every interest, financial and human, that 
was dear to him. It is a difficult matter to make 
money ; it is the easiest thing in the world to lose 
it. Had this misfortune not come upon him, 
there is every reason to believe that two years 
would have seen his fortune at least doubled and 
possibly trebled. As it was, all was lost — not 
even a meager income being left to his daughter. 

Seldom is a sadder case recorded than this of 
Wilson D. Crompton. To one in the lower walks 
of life — a man of coarse, brutal instincts who 
knows nothing of the pleasures of refinement and 
luxury — to such a man the prison walls and 
prison fare have less terror than to a sensitive 
nature like that of Mr. Crompton. 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS. 


345 


His loss was immeasurable — wealth, standing, 
home, freedom — all gone, and worse yet, a thou- 
sand times more bitter to him was the knowledge 
of his daughter’s suffering. He had seen her 
crushed by the awful blow, seen her dropped by 
friends and shunned as a pestilence, and now, 
worst of all, left without the means of support — 
she who had been reared in luxuries, and courted 
and flattered by society, must now battle with the 
cold, hard world for her daily bread. 


346 


A TRACED y OF ERRORS. 


XXXVI. 

“ T T is perhaps better, dear,” said Miss Cromp- 
^ ton, talking with her aunt, “ that the prop- 
erty is gone. With father imprisoned for life, and 
this stain upon us, we have little to live for. 
Busy hands will make the days drag less slowly. 
But for father death would be a relief. So long 
as he lives, I hope, though, that I shall be spared, 
to cheer him on the visiting days. Oh, this 
whole thing is so cruel, so unaccountable,” she 
broke out in tears. “ How could they find him 
guilty of that horrible crime — my father who is as 
innocent as I am — the most tender hearted of 
men ! ” 

“ Do not cry, my child,” said Mrs. Woodman, 
tenderly. “ If tears would do any good, your 
father would have had his freedom long ago. 
But He who doeth all things well will not forget 
us in this, the hour of our tribulation.” 

“ I wish I could have your faith,” replied the 
niece with a deep sigh. “ But God seems to have 
forgotten us, or else is purposely wielding his rod 
of punishment. And for what reason? What 
have father and I done to itierit such scourging?” 

“ Whom the Lord loveth He chasteneth,” re- 
plied the aunt. 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS. 


347 


‘‘And can you believe that, dear? Is it not a 
strange way to show one’s love ? ” 

“ But, my child, we cannot understand the ways 
of the Almighty. They are high, and far above 
our comprehension. Some day you may see the 
purpose in this affliction, and yet it may not be 
revealed to you but to another. For my part I 
have faith in the God of your father’s father and 
my father’s father. I am as certain as you are 
that my brother is an innocent man. Why he 
should be thus punished I cannot say — perhaps to 
divert a worse calamity. But sooner or later the 
wicked one will be apprehended, and your father 
will be set at liberty.” 

“ Oh, I wish I could believe so,” said Miss 
Crompton, grasping her aunt’s hand. “ But it 
takes so much faith, and now since cruel fate has 
so completely blasted our home and hopes I have 
none left. All looks black and dreary ahead of 
me. Nothing but toil and sorrow till the end 
comes.” 

From this subject the two women drifted to the 
more practical discussion of their financial con- 
dition. 

“ My income, as you know, Lela,” said her 
aunt, “ is only about four hundred dollars a year.” 

“And mine at present,” replied the other, “is 
nothing, but it shall not remain so long. These 
apartments we must give up. They are too large 
and cost us more than we can pay. On the west 


348 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS. 


side of the city, in the new districts, anywhere 
from Seventy Second to Ninety Fifth Streets, are 
many handsome little apartments. Mr. Cromwell 
told me that they can be had — small cozy ones 
such as we want — for from twenty five to thirty 
five dollars. If you will come with me we will go 
at once and look at them, for the sooner we get set- 
tled the better.” 

Miss Crompton’s suggestion was acted upon, 
and in less than an hour the two women were 
busily engaged examining apartments. Their 
search resulted favorably, and a week later their 
home was transferred to Eighty First Street, be- 
tween the Boulevard and Ninth Avenue. Suffici- 
ent furniture and bric-a-brac was retained to give 
the new apartment a very cozy, homelike effect. 
Everything else was sold — furniture, pictures, and 
a quantity of silver not needed in their new home. 
The result of the sale netted somewhat over seven 
thousand dollars. But a good proportion of this 
money Miss Crompton used in paying certain 
personal obligations of her father’s, leaving her 
about three thousand. This sum she invested in 
securities that brought her five per cent, making 
her income one hundred and fifty dollars a year, 
or the combined income of herself and aunt five 
hundred and fifty. But as the rent for their 
apartment was in round numbers four hundred a 
year, only one hundred and fifty dollars remained 
for living and other expenses. 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS. 


349 


The necessity, then, of increasing their income 
was apparent, and Miss Crompton decided to 
take the matter into her own hands. But just 
what sort of employment she should seek was the 
subject of many discussions. At last typewriting 
and stenography was fixed upon. 

“ I prefer it,” said she, “ for the reason that it 
will bring us in a steady income whenever I suc- 
ceed in getting a good position. Music, art, and 
all that sort of thing, are so uncertain and pre- 
carious, you know. Of course either would be 
more to my taste, but taste is no longer a factor 
for consideration with us. And then there is this 
other advantage in typewriting. It will keep my 
mind busy, so that my own troubles will not wear 
upon me as they would if I were painting,” 

“ But I would so much rather you would try 
painting. I cannot bear to think of you going in- 
to business offices.” 

“ But you know, dear,” protested Miss Cromp- 
ton, “ my paintings have little real merit. They 
are pretty enough in a way, but have little, if any, 
commercial value. And my time must be ex- 
changed for money, or we shall use up what little 
principal we have.” 

Mrs. Woodman finally yielded, and the next day 
Miss Crompton made arrangements with a quiet 
spinster who had a typewriting machine in her 
house, to learn typewriting and stenography. 


350 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS, 


XXXVII. 



EARLY twelve months have passed since 


^ any mention has been made of Bainbridge. 
The last time we saw him he was at the pier on 
the morning when Van Gilding sailed for Europe. 
Two years and a little more have gone by since he 
started his publishing enterprise under conditions 
so disadvantageous. Then every one aimed to 
discourage him, all agreeing that the project was 
foolhardy and hopeless. Today this same* Bain- 
bridge, who had the courage of his convictions, 
has a princely income. His paper is a great suc- 
cess, and month by month its circulation is gaining. 
The days of grim financial struggle are over with 
the young publisher, and he is now branching out 
in other lines of publishing. 

Goggins, his old college friend, has remained 
with him, and now draws a handsome salary as 
business manager. The bare room in which Bain- 
bridge commenced business has been exchanged 
for commodious, well arranged offices. F'ifty 
names, perhaps, are on his weekly pay roll — clerks, 
compositors, engravers, artists, and now he decides 
to add another — that of a typewriter. To his ad- 
vertisement in one of the daily papers he received 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS. 


351 


nearly two hundred replies — all by mail, as he 
gave the number of his post office box only. 

Goggins had opened them all, and put them on 
Bainbridge’s desk when he arrived at his office. 

“ All these replies ! ” said the latter, amazed at the 
unexpectedly large number. 

“ Yes,” replied Goggins, “ and I presume the 
next mail will bring another hundred or so.” 

“ Well, here are enough in all reason — so many 
that it is difficult to tell which is the most desir- 
able.” 

“ I should say each one is the most desirable, 
judging from the way she tells it,” said Goggins. 

Meanwhile Bainbridge sorted the letters into 
two lots — the better and the poorer ones. This 
done, he went over those that pleased him most a 
second time. 

“ Here is one, Goggins,” said he, “ that promises 
well — from a Miss Barry of Eighty First Street — 
West — the writing is excellent — well capitalized 
and properly punctuated — mighty important, you 
know, in a stenographer. Here are others that 
promise well — had experience, too, but some flaw — 
a misspelled word — badly constructed sentence — 
wrong use of capital — badly punctuated — not one 
of them perfect, no, not one out of all this batch 
except that of the Eighty First Street girl, and she 
has had no experience.” 

“ Well, sometimes that is an advantage,” re- 
marked Goggins. 


352 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS. 


“ How so?” 

“Why, she will not have to unlearn anything.” 

“ There is something in that surely, and I would 
much prefer a stenographer who will do correct 
work, even if she is a little slow.” 

“ But this girl may not be so slow.” 

“ Yes, that is so. Suppose, then, we try her.” 

“ Very well — as you say,” returned Goggins. 

“You may write to her to come down in the 
morning — a good time for her to break in during 
my absence — oh, by the way, I didn’t tell you that 
I have to go to Chicago tonight.” 

“No, I have heard nothing of it.” 

“ Yes, got a telegram — shall be away a week 
probably.” 

“ H’m, h’m — well. I’ll see that everything goes 
well, and will write for Miss Barry as you suggest 
— hope she won’t prove ugly enough to sour my dis- 
position.” 

“ It would take a monstrously ugly woman to 
do that, Goggins — no fear of you on that score, 
and then she may be your ideal — who knows?” 

The following morning Miss Barry responded 
personally to Goggins’s letter, and the room she 
was to occupy was shown her. It was a diminutive 
affair off Bainbridge’s private office — just suited to 
typewriting purposes. A new machine, with fold- 
ing cabinet, had been bought for her. Altogether 
everything was much more to her taste than she 
expected to find it. Goggins dictated a number 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS. 


353 


of letters, one of which went to Bainbridge at the 
Grand Pacific Hotel, Chicago. By the wording of 
it she learned that the proprietor was away. 

The first day passed satisfactorily with her, and 
her work was acceptable to Goggins. The latter 
was very much of a gentleman, she thought, and 
he evidently tried to make her work easy for her. 
She wondered if the proprietor would be likewise 
considerate or if he were a sour old fellow who 
would make life miserable. 

On Bainbridge’s return Goggins met him at his 
hotel with his pe^-sonal mail. They talked over 
the business and finally reached the stenographer. 

“ By the way, Goggins, is she as ugly as you 
feared she would be ? ” laughed Bainbridge. 

“ Ugly ! ” exclaimed Goggins, “ why, she is any- 
thing but that — a lady, if ever I saw one — tall, 
good figure, and such fine features, but sad — why 
you never saw anything like it.” 

“Well, you interest me,” replied Bainbridge 
thoughtfully. 

“ And she interests me — been trying to make her 
out all the week.” 

“ Does her work well ?” 

“ Yes — perfectly.” 

“ That is the main point, and I’m rather glad if 
she is a lady, for I dislike to have ugly, bad man- 
nered people around — they annoy me.” 


354 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS. 


XXXVIII. 



N the following morning Bainbridge was at 


his desk looking over business papers when 
Miss Barry arrived. She had put her writing 
machine in order for the day, and was arranging 
letters for the file when Goggins introduced 
Bainbridge to her, saying that he was the pro- 
prietor. 

She was evidently much surprised that a man of 
his age should be at the head of so large a busi- 
ness. 

“ I hope you find the office pleasant. Miss 
Barry,” said Bainbridge. 

“ Yes, thank you,” she replied quietly. 

“ This is your first experience at typewriting, I 
believe ?” 

“Yes, and I have found it much more agree- 
able than I expected.” 

“ I am glad you like your surroundings. We 
will try to avoid giving you too much work.” 

“ Thank you, but I think there is little danger 
of that, since I prefer being kept busy.” 

“ That speaks well for you,” said Bainbridge 
pleasantly. “ And how goes the machine ? — new 
yet, and may work a little hard.” 

“ No, .it does not — see, it does perfect work,” 


A mAGEDV OF ERRORS. 


355 


she replied, exhibiting a page she had written on 
it. 

“ That is excellent," returned the young pro- 
prietor, examining the work critically. “ The 
alignment is perfect." 

“ Yes." 

“ Nothing makes a page look worse than bad 
alignment." 

“ Nothing except bad spelling and the incorrect 
use of capitals," replied Miss Barry, daring to ex- 
press her thoughts before her employer. 

“ I accept your amendment," laughed Bain- 
bridge. “ You are quite right, and do you know 
that the perfection of your letter in this respect 
decided me to send for you ?" 

The color tinged Miss Barry’s cheeks, and 
turning the conversation she said : “ Then it is to 
you I owe my position ? I supposed it was to Mr. 
Goggins, as the summons came in his hand- 
writing." 

“ Matters of this kind I usually decide," re- 
turned Bainbridge, carelessl)^, adding that if she 
was ready to take dictation he would give her a 
number of letters. ‘‘ You had better come to my 
desk," said he, “ and as I run over my mail I will 
give you the answers." 

Several times he cautioned her not to let him 
talk too fast. “ There is no need," he went on, 
“of hurrying you beyond your natural speed." 

“ I appreciate your consideration very much," 


35 ® 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS. 


said Miss Barry, “and if you can put up with me 
for a few weeks I think I shall have no difficulty 
in taking down your dictation.” 

“ You already do very well indeed — surpris- 
ingly well for one who has had no experience.” 

“ I am glad to hear 3^ou say so, as I feared 
that in the matter of stenography I might prove 
unsatisfactory.” 

“ You need give yourself no further uneasiness 
on that point,” replied Bainbridge reassuringly. 
“And now regarding your salary — Mr. Goggins, 
I believe, told you that I would arrange that with 
you.” 

“ Yes,” replied Miss Barry softly, her eyes rest- 
ing on her note book. 

“ Would fifteen dollars a week satisfy you for 
the present. Miss Barry?” asked Bainbridge, 
studying her face critically. 

“ I did not expect nearly so much,” she replied, 
lifting her large, sad eyes to his with surprise. 

“ You did not ? ” 

“ No,” in lower tones. 

“ How much had you fixed your mind upon?” 

“ My teacher said I could hardly expect to re- 
ceive more than seven or eight dollars at first.” 

“To tell you the truth, I had not expected to 
pay over ten or twelve dollars, but 3^our work 
pleases me and I believe in rewarding merit.” 

“ I thank you sincerely, Mr. Bainbridge, and 
only hope I shall earn the generous salary you 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS, 


357 


offer me,” replied Miss Barry, a ray of happiness 
darting across her fine features — the first for many 
long, dreary months. 

And Bainbridge was already repaid for his 
liberality in beholding the effect it had upon her. 
The brightest gleams of sunshine one ever sees 
in this world are reflected from a heart made 
happy by some kindness or act of generosity. 

Bainbridge, unlike so many of our men of 
means, understood this fact and^ made his money 
yield him abundant reward for the untiring 
energy he had exchanged for it. 

At night, when the cares of the day had been 
dismissed, and he sat in his room with slippered 
feet, lazily watching the soft yellow blaze from the 
burning coal, his mind went back to the morning. 
He thought of the surprise he felt when his eyes 
first fell upon Miss Barry. Goggins had told him a 
good deal of her, but he was not prepared to see 
one quite her equal. 

“ Her face is young,” he mused dreamily, “ and 
wonderfully sweet, but so sad and pathetic. 
She cannot be older than twenty, iff judge well — 
twenty or a year more at most. Her refinement 
of manner and her evident culture stamps her a 
well born, well bred lady. Reverse of circum- 
stances, I doubt not, has compelled her to seek 
employment for support. Poverty to one who 
knows the luxuries of life is a frightful thing, and 
yet poverty alone could never tinge the’ heart with 


358 


A TRACED Y OF ERRORS. 


sorrow so deep as that which burdens this fair 
girl.” 

And now Bainbridge opened his book and com- 
menced to read, but the pathetic sadness of Miss 
Barry’s features lay pictured before his eyes ^ on 
every page. He heard her soft, sweet voice re- 
peating her thanks for the generous salary he had 
promised. The ray of pleasure that he saw on her 
face, he again beheld, warming his heart a second 
time. “ She seeiT\s so out of place in a business 
office — a woman of different fiber and finer thought 
and sensibilities than those of her sex who devote 
their lives to the strife of commerce. Well, mis- 
fortune did it doubtless — some cruel fate ; alas, 
how it tampers with many a life, turning it from 
its natural course into by paths steep and thorny. 
One of the saddest features of life in a great city,” 
he went on meditatively, “ is the misery one is 
forced to see, feeling all the while his inability to 
relieve it. I meet a man on one corner broken 
down and asking alms ; on the next is a woman 
with pinched features and outstretched hand ; the 
adjoining block reveals another unfortunate to my 
eye, and so on from early morning to late at night 
these poverty marks punctuate the trend of our 
daily life. In smaller towns one can do much to re- 
lieve this suffering, but in such a city as New York 
the wealth of forty Vanderbilts would make little 
diminution in the number of those who seek 
charity. The best one can do here, I suppose, is 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS. 


359 


to help those with whose misfortunes he is fami- 
liar, and to deal out sparingly from his means to 
the great body of unfortunates.” 

These thoughts were suggested to Bainbridge 
by the reverses that he assumed had occurred in 
Miss Barry’s life. Again he took up his book and 
read, or seemed to read. One, two, three pages 
were turned, and he threw the volume down and 
went to the window and looked out. It was rain- 
ing, and the hour hand, he saw by his watch, had 
passed nine. ‘‘Too dreary,” he said to himself, 
“ to go out for a call and too late. How this 
evening drags!” he exclaimed, throwing up his 
arms with a lazy yawn. He walked several times 
up and down his room and again peered out 
through the same window. An electric light stood 
on the corner close by, dispelling the darkness so 
fully that any one passing could be recognized as 
easily as at noonday. Presently a shabby looking 
fellow came along. He attracted Bainbridge’s at- 
tention by his unsteady gait, and because men 
dressed as he v/as seldom passed that portion of 
Fifth Avenue. The man came along to the corner, 
and, stopping, took from his pocket a memoran- 
dum book, with the evident purpose of reading 
something in the strong light. Having done this, 
he returned it to its former place as he supposed, 
and removing his hat for an instant, revealed his 
face to Bainbridge. 

“ Briggs ! ” exclaimed the latter with* a shudder, 


360 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS, 


though why he should have this feeling he did 
not know. “ Briggs — yes, the same scar on his 
temple, and still under the influence of liquor. 
Poor wretch, what is there about him that is so 
repellent? He has never done me any injury. 
The fact that he was with Van Gilding doubtless 
accounts for it.” 

In another minute Briggs was gone, having 
vanished around the corner, but as he moved 
away Bainbridge saw something drop to the side- 
walk and fall off the curb into the street. “ It 
may be his memorandum book,” thought the 
latter — “ a worthless affair, no doubt. Well, this 
is a peculiarly monotonous evening,” he went on ; 
“ I wish I had gone to the theater or invited Gog- 
gins up here — half past nine only — too early to go 
to bed, and I’m not in the mood for reading.” 

After taking another turn up and down his 
room, he threw himself into his easy chair again 
to watch the fire and ruminate. Presently he 
thought of Briggs once more, and asked himself 
what the relation could have been between him 
and Van Gilding. His curiosity astir, he spurred 
himself to the effort of putting on his boots and 
coat to go down to the sidewalk and look for the 
mysterious something that -he saw fall as Briggs 
moved from under the gaslight. 

“ Yes, I was right,” said Bainbridge to himself 
triumphantly as he picked up the memorandum 
book and hurried back to his room. “A misera- 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS. 361 

ble night out,” he went on, talking to himself — 
“ regular Boston east wind,” and he hurriedly 
threw off his coat, and, putting smoking jacket 
and slippers on again, commenced the perusal of 
the memorandum book. “ Is it just right to do 
this- -to pry into another’s secrets?” he asked 
himself. “ No, it is not,” said he, “ and ordin- 
arily I wouldn’t do it, but this once I think I will, 
and I have no reason for doing so, either — none 
except my wish to discover the man’s relation to 
Van Gilding.” 

The first entry in the book recorded the date 
on which he commenced work in a down town 
restaurant. “ So he was a waiter,” mused Bain- 
bridge — “ a strange sort of fellow to be hobnob- 
bing with Van Gilding on lonely roads late at 
night.” 

A few pages farther on he discovered Van Gild- 
ing’s name, and under it written the words 
“ Marlborough Stable, Forty Fifth Street, West, 
8:30.” 

Bainbridge now laid the book down, and going 
to his desk, hunted up a paper which he brought 
back with him. “ Yes, it must be the same night,” 
he said to himself, comparing the date of his 
writing with the one that preceded and the one 
that followed the Van Gilding entry in Briggs’s 
book ; “ the very same night that I saw them on 
Riverside Drive — fifteen months ago,” and Bain- 
bridge read again his notes of the strange meet- 


362 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS. 


ing on that dark night. He had recorded the 
facts on his return home, expressing his surprise 
at seeing Van Gilding thus associated with one 
whose appearance and speech stamped him as a 
servant. 

Laying down the paper he resumed the perusal 
of the book. On the second page following the 
entry referred to, Bainbridge discovered what 
seemed to be something written in cipher. This 
he took to be a memorandum recorded in initials. 
Somewhat farther on the fact of Van Gilding’s 
departure for Europe was recorded, and a few 
weeks later there was mention of a sheriff’s sale 
of Van Gilding’s property. 

“ This is strange,” said Bainbridge to himself, 
puzzled. “ Van Gilding must have got into finan- 
cial difficulties, but why this drunken waiter should 
interest himself, as he evidently did, is a mystery 
to me.” 

Nothing further of any importance was dis- 
covered in the book — not even the man’s present 
address. “The whole thing is a mystery,” said 
Bainbridge, as he prepared for bed. “ And so Van 
Gilding’s property was sold by the sheriff 1 ” 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS. 


363 


XXXIX. 

'DEFORE ten days had passed after Bainbridge’s 
^ return from Chicago, he had said to himself: 
“ I regret that Miss Barry Is in my employ. Her 
pathetic face haunts me, and the mystery of her 
life is much too frequently the theme of my 
thoughts.” This was said with the contradictory 
feeling that he was glad she had come to his office, 
where she would be treated as a lady, instead of 
falling into the hands of a hard, unsympathetic 
employer. Conflicting emotions these, yet per- 
fectly natural to one of Bainbridge’s temperament. 
Had he been a man of coarse fiber, these thoughts 
would never have troubled him. But he could not 
meet day after day one suffering as Miss Barry 
was from some blighting trouble, without sharing 
the burden with her, and burdens of this sort did 
not rest lightly upon him. Sympathetic, generous 
natures never bear them easily. 

“ If I could only know the facts,” he reasoned 
with himself, “I might perhaps do something that 
would to some degree dispel the shadows that so 
completely envelop her. I know of nothing more 
trying,” he went on, “ than to have some one ap- 
peal to me for aid when I am unable to give the 
relief sought. And she appeals to me with the 


364 


A TRACED Y OF ERRORS. 


pathos of every movement — with her sad eyes and 
the yet sadder expression of her mouth. In the 
ten days she has been with me I have detected 
only a single ray of happiness in her, and that was 
when I fixed her salary at a larger figure than she 
had anticipated. But that one gleam — almost in- 
stantaneous as it was — showed the beauty of her 
face as God had intended it to be, and vanishing, 
left the sorrowful'features darker than before.” 

The door to her room, opening into Bainbridge’s 
private office, was seldom closed. As the latter 
sat at his desk, he could see her at her work by 
turning his eyes slightly to the right. Not infre- 
quently, he would hear the sound of the typewriter 
cease, and, attracted by the stillness, look up, only 
to find Miss Barry so completely w^rapped in 
thought as to forget her task. 

“ Again peering into the future, or dwelling 
upon some horrible past ! ” Bainbridge was wont 
to say to himself, as he studied the varying ex- 
pressions of her face — fright, bewilderment, scorn, 
unutterable sorrow. “To read these thoughts,” 
he went on, speculatively, “ would be to solve the 
mystery of her life. Is it a love affair, I wonder, 
and if so, how has it resulted in bringing her to 
the necessity of work?” And thus he pondered, 
gaining, he thought, at times, a little light. 

Once or twice, as she sat beside him taking dic- 
tation, he made remarks that would have given 
her an excuse for confiding her troubles to him. 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS. 


365 


His motive was generous and manly — not one of 
idle curiosity. He felt that she must know this, 
and, knowing it, still preferred to guard her secret. 
He had no desire to pry into her affairs — only a 
purpose to help her if he could — to help her not 
only for her sake, but to rid his office of the gloom 
she had brought into it. 

He had not the heart to tell her that she had 
better look for another position. Her work was 
well done, and the refinement of her manner was 
agreeable to him. But the cloud that hovered 
over her extended to his room, shutting out the 
cheerful air that he naturally loved to breathe. 
Just what to do he did not know. 

A month passed, and he was no nearer solving 
the problem than when it commenced. 

“ In the six weeks she has worked for me,” said 
Bainbridge, meditating one evening as he lounged 
in his easy chair, smoking a fragrant cigar, “ I 
have never seen her smile once — never seen her 
manifest the slightest interest in anything save 
her work. I cannot understand how any sorrow 
or combination of sorrows can be so great as to 
produce such an effect upon one whose natural 
disposition must have been sunny and cheerful. 
And she is so young, so beautiful. There is no 
greater mistake in all the world than that of dwell- 
ing upon one’s troubles. To worry over the future 
is worse than folly, but to dwell upon misfortunes 
of the past — the loss of money, position, friends, 


366 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS. 


lover, or whatsoe’er it be, is a crime against one’s 
self — sapping the life and enervating the brain.” 

From this thought Bainbridge’s mind drifted to 
other subjects. He went to his book case, and 
taking out an old college journal, read it with 
varying expressions — sometimes smiling, some- 
times laughing aloud. Finally he came to the re- 
cord of the debate with Van Gilding — the one 
referred to by Goggins in the opening chapter of 
this story, and a frown settled upon his brow. He 
threw the book down, went to his lounge, and 
stretched himself upon it at full length. Tonight 
he was in a thoughtful mood, and the college 
journal had recalled old remembrances. Since 
coming to New York his life had been so closely 
occupied with the present and his plans for the 
future that he had hardly turned to the past. But 
once getting back to the old scenes, he com- 
menced to live them over again. Thoughts of his 
boyhood pressed in upon him, of his mother 
and father, the old home with its low roof 
and great shade trees, of the amusing incidents in 
his early career in telegraphy, of the depression he 
felt on realizing the limitations of the business, of 
his decision to get an education, and now he was 
back at old Yale again, thinking of the days of 
hazing and the bright hours of college life. Pass- 
ing on, he dwelt for some time in imagination 
over the debate with Van Gilding — something of 
the old enthusiasm and the old bitter feeling com- 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS. 367 

ing back to him as he sarvv the haughty sneer on 
the lips of his opponent. 

“ It will make you class orator,” he heard Gog- 
gins say, with a thrill of pleasure, as he had heard 
it once before in reality. This thought brought 
back to his mind the breakfast and the story he 
had told Goggins — a story that had to do with 
Miss Crompton. 

“ I wonder what her life is now,” he asked him- 
self, “ since her father’s dreadful crime. Strange 
that he should have turned out a murderer — a man 
of his refinement and social position. I presume 
she may be the wife of Van Gilding before this — 
engaged nearly two years ago, I believe. And yet 
I saw him as he sailed for Europe, and she was not 
with him. He may have returned before this, 
though I have heard nothing of his doing so. Per- 
haps when her father was arrested. Van Gilding 
deserted her. His aristocratic pride, it strikes me, 
would hardly allow him to marry the daughter of 
a murderer.” 

. That her father had been sentenced to State 
prison for life, Bainbridge knew, and this was as 
far as his knowledge of the Crompton family ex- 
tended. When he saw her in Central Park riding 
beside Van Gilding, he had promised himself 
that he would think no more of her. He was not 
the sort of man to fall desperately in love with any 
girl without some good cause for doing so. He 
had met her but once in his life, and then by acci- 


368 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS. 


dent, and at a time, too, when their social positions 
were widely apart. But he admired her for her 
beauty and the charm of her manner, as most men 
would. He concluded that she and Van Gilding 
were much attached to each other, and this idea 
was confirmed a few months later when he was 
told that they were engaged. She had, to be sure, 
made a marked impression on him, but now that 
her hand was promised to another there was but 
one thing for a sensible man to do. Bainbridge 
knew this, and would not allow himself to look 
upon her picture — the picture graven on his 
memory. 

The pressure of business, too, helped him in this 
determination, for he had little time for thought on 
other matters. He would not go to the court room 
during the trial, as he did not care to see her, humi- 
liated as he believed she must be by the fearful 
crime her father had committed. Fifteen months 
had passed since the jury found Mr. Crompton 
guilty. With that verdict public interest in him and 
his family was at an end. Bainbridge had succeeded 
in disciplining himself to think no more of them. 
But tonight, in reviewing the past, he saw Miss 
Crompton again, and she was as beautiful to his 
eyes as ever. For some reason he lingered over 
the picture, studying it fondly. From her his 
thoughts returned to Miss Barry, and as he beheld 
the two side by side in imagination he sprang to 
his feet, startled and surprised. 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS, 


369 


“ They are so like,” said he to himself, the color 
going from his face ; “ so like,” he repeated, now 
walking to and fro in his room. “ But no, it can- 
not be Miss Crompton come to this, with all her 
father’s wealth. Such a thought is idle nonsense. 
And yet their figures are strikingly alike, and 
their features, too, so similar. I wonder why I 
have not thought of this before. Yet there is noth- 
ing in it, for Miss Crompton would never assume a 
false name, even if she were forced into the ranks 
of those who toil for a living. 

“ But suppose,” he went on arguing with him- 
self, “ it were she. Her father is imprisoned for 
life, and branded as a murderer. It is possible his 
property has vanished. And it would not be sur- 
prising if Van Gilding had deserted her. Suffi- 
cient cause I see in this for such a sorrow as that 
which blights the life of Miss Barry.” 

For a long time Bainbridge pondered over this 
new phase of the mystery — dismissing it at last, 
bewildered and annoyed, as he sought his bed. 


370 


A 7 .RAGED V OF ERRORS. 


XL. 


HE next day Bainbridge went to his office 



^ somewhat earlier than usual, resolved to de- 
termine whether his stenographer was Miss 
Crompton or not. He was at his desk when she 
came in, and raising his eyes to hers he greeted 
her cordially, at the same time studying her with 
critical look. 

“ You are here early this morning, Mr. Bain- 
bridge,” she said in her quiet, subdued way. 

“ Yes,” he replied, “ I am a little before my usual 
time, but I have a good deal to do today.” 

“ I am glad, then, that I got through with yes- 
terday’s correspondence before going home last 
night,” said she, looking really pleased, and con- 
tinuing added, “ cannot I help you in other ways 
than mere letter writing ? — you have so much to 


do.” 


“You did not finish all those letters?” returned 
he, surprised. 

“ Yes,” was the modest reply. 

“I fear you must have remained very late, and 
it was not necessary,” said Bainbridge, appreciat- 
ing the interest she showed in facilitating the 
business. 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS. 


37 


‘‘ But I preferred to do so, rather than have them 
left over for today.” 

“ I must regulate my dictation accordingly, then, 
as I do not wish you to overwork. To one who has 
not been accustomed to office life, this confinement 
cannot prove otherwise than trying.” 

“ To one who has not been accxistomed to office 
life ! ” she repeated to herself, the color mounting 
to her cheeks, with the thought that perhaps her 
employer had learned her history. Then, replying, 
she said : “ I think there is little danger that I shall 
more than earn the generous salary you allow me,” 
laughing with feminine tact to hide the confusion 
she had shown. 

Her heightened color and the glimpse of her 
pretty teeth, revealed by the soft laughter, startled 
Bainbridge, so like to his memories of Miss Cromp- 
ton was the young woman beside him. 

He attempted to speak, hesitated, stammered 
and in desperation pressed an electric signal sum- 
moning Goggins. In another instant the latter 
responded personally, with an interrogation point 
in his eye. But Bainbridge was little better off 
than before, as he was now puzzled to know what 
to say to his clerk. “ Mail opened yet ? ” he finally 
queried. 

“ No,” answered Goggins, wondering at his em- 
ployer’s haste. 

“ Not opened — don’t know what the receipts are, 
then stammered Bainbridge. 


372 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS. 


“Well, not exactly,” returned Goggins, staring 
with surprise. 

“ No, I suppose not. That’s all,” replied the 
proprietor, his face bordering closely on the 
crimson. 

Goggins returned to his own desk bewildered, 
and wondering what had upset Bainbridge’s 
usually cool head. 

Puzzled at his strange manner. Miss Barry 
sought to relieve him of his confusion by remind- 
ing him that he had not answered her question. 
She, too, was utterly at a loss to understand his 
embarrassment. 

“ Your question ?” said he with rising inflection. 

“ I asked if I could not help you in other ways 
than letter writing,” replied Miss Barry, surprised 
that he should forget the query so soon. 

“ Oh, I remember,” returned Bainbridge, regain- 
ing his composure. “But I hardly know how to 
answer you. In fact, it seems to me that you are 
already sufficiently busy.” 

“No, my time is not very fully occupied. You 
see, I turn off the work much more rapidly than at 
first.” 

“ I have noticed that you do. Your gain in 
speed has been extraordinary. But as to helping 
me — my work, you know, is largely executive in 
character.” 

“You devote a good deal of time to editorial 
matters,” suggested Miss Barry, timidly. 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS. 


373 


“Have you any taste for such work?” asked 
Bainbridge, betraying surprise. 

“ I think I have a taste for it, though perhaps 
not the ability to do any part of it well.” 

“ You shall try it since you wdsh to do so, and if 
you succeed at it, I can give you a much better 
position than you now have,” returned Bain- 
bridge. 

She thanked him warmly for his kindness, and 
returned to her writing machine, thinking that her 
identity was still veiled from him. 

Bainbridge’s brain whirled with conflicting 
thoughts. She was so like Miss Crompton, that it 
seemed she could be no other, and yet he could not 
swear to her identity. 

On the assumption that his suspicions were cor- 
rect, he felt indignant — annoyed — that she should 
come to him in misfortune, and under a false name. 
“ Before her father’s horrible crime,” he went on, 
wiping small beads of perspiration from his fore- 
head, “she sought Van Gilding’s company, and so 
far as I know never gave me a thought after I had 
landed her safely on shore, rescuing her from a 
sinking boat. But now, in poverty and disgrace — 
deserted doubtless by Van Gilding and the friends 
she courted — she turns to me. Monstrous ! ” he 
exclaimed, thrusting the pen, with which he had 
been writing, hard into the paper. 

To one of his spirit a thought like this was suffi- 
cient to make him very angry. But after a time 


374 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS. 


reason, that stood him in so well on all occasions, 
overcame his indignation, and he studied the 
matter coolly. “ It is possible,” he admitted, 
“ that she is not Miss Crompton, but if she is it is 
not certain that she remembers me. In fact, there 
is, perhaps, less reason that she should have re- 
membered me than that I should have remembered 
her. Then I was merely a telegraph operator, and 
now at the head of this business. One naturally 
would not associate the boy operator with the New 
York publisher. ” 

These thoughts softened the case, and made her 
appear to him less cunning, less designing. And 
with all his resentment and indignation there was 
a strange unaccountable feeling of pleasure. 

In this bewilderment, Bainbridge put on his 
overcoat and hat and went out for a walk in the 
cool air. He did this that he might be alone to 
think and ponder over the situation. At the end of 
half an hour’s vigorous thought he exclaimed with 
a trimphant smile, “ I have it.” 

He returned to his office, placed his coat and hat 
in the wardrobe and went to his desk. A little 
time was devoted to his morning mail, a few 
moments to putting down notes on a pad of blank 
paper, and then he called Miss Barry and asked if 
she could take dictation. 

“ Certainly,” she replied, and joined him at his 
desk. 

He gave her one letter, and hesitated — took up 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS. 


375 


another and seemed to be reading it, then looked 
at the notes he had made just previously on the 
pad, and, though feeling like a criminal, proceeded 
with his dictation as follows, watching keenly 
meanwhile the expression on the face of his fair 
stenographer. 

“ My Dear Hawthorn : — A letter from you always brings back 
our college days, and I live over again some of the happiest st;enes of 
my life. Am very glad you are doing so well. You deserve success, 
and now in your new position you are on the road to the reward you 
seek. Yes, Goggins is with me yet, and has developed into a first 
rate business man — keen and conscientious. You ask about Van 
Gilding. I know little of him. Somewhat over a year ago he 
went to Europe under rather peculiar circumstances, and has not re- 
turned, so far as I can learn. You know he was engaged to a Miss 
Crompton of this city, the daughter of ” 

The letter was never finished, for at this point 
the stenographer sprang to her feet and ran to 
her own room overcome with terrible emotion. 
She sank into a chair and buried her face in her 
hands. 

Bainbridge’s heart went out to her as he wit- 
nessed her agony, while he condemned himself for 
what now seemed cruel and thoughtless. 

That she was Miss Crompton he w^as now cer- 
tain, and he forgave her for coming to him in her 
misfortune, though only lil tie more than an hour be- 
fore he had boiled with indignation at the thought. 
The expression of her face at the mention of Van 
Gilding’s name — the resistless blush and hidden 
frown — fear yielding to a look of keenest pain, as 
if she were pierced by a dagger, were quite enough 


376 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS. 


to torture Bainbridge, and he brought all his mind 
to bear to know how he might soothe her. 

“ Better she should understand that I know all/' 
he said to himself with kindliest feelings, as he ap- 
proached her and called her by name. 

The shudder that racked her frame at the sound 
of his voice was all the answer she gave. 

“ Miss Crompton,” he said tenderly, “ it pains 
me to witness your distress, the more so since I 
feel myself the cause. It was cruel and thought- 
less in me to discover your identity by such means. 
But will you not forgive me, since my motive was 
not one of idle curiosity ?” 

And still she sobbed piteously. 

“ 'Tis better, far better,” he went on, that we 
understand each other, for now I can perhaps help 
you in someway. Your sad, pathetic face has ap- 
pealed to me till at times I have almost wished I had 
never seen you, since your secret you kept to your- 
self, rendering assistance from me impossible. But 
now it is different. I assure you that any kind- 
ness I can do you will be done with all my heart.” 
And stepping to her side, he placed his hand upon 
her arm and raised her to a standing position. 

“ I appreciate your kindness, Mr. Bainbridge,” 
she said, her eyes still buried in her handkerchief, 
“ and will try to forget the wound you gave me. I 
can see that it was meant kindly, but do not know 
what to do — whether to remain here longer or not. 
I feel that I should not, and yet ” 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS. 


377 


“ Do not talk of leaving under circumstances 
such as these,” interrupted Bainbridge, with pained 
features. “ I should never forgive myself for my 
cruelty if you were to do so.” 

“ I must have time to think,” she replied. 
“ This has come upon me so suddenly — so unex- 
pectedly, that I am bewildered — beside myself al- 
most.” 

“Will you not go home now, where you can 
have quiet and rest ? I will do your work.” 

“ And this is always such a busy day with 
you,” she murmured. 

“ Never mind that,” said he, in his generous 
way. “ I am sure it is better that you should go 
home now, as you are not in condition to remain 
here. But again let me urge you not to think of 
giving up your position. You will find me a 
friend as well as an employer, and I am sure that 
friendship will not come amiss with you. Were 
you to go into some other office you might be 
better situated ; you might not fare as well.” 

But Miss Crompton was too full of emotions to 
trust herself to reply, and motioned him away 
with genuine thanks and tear stained eyes. 


378 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS. 


XLI. 

T T was a little past midday when Miss Cromp- 
^ ton walked into her aunt’s presence. Her 
troubled face and agitated manner were those of 
one who had received a severe shock. Mrs. Wood- 
man ran to her, asking what had happened. 

“ Nothing serious,” replied Miss Crompton, 
struggling to hide her feelings. 

“ But, my dear, you are very nervous, and this 
is not your usual time for coming home,” returned 
the aunt, much alarmed. 

“ I will explain all in a little time,” said Miss 
Crompton, kissing her aunt almost hysterically, 
and throwing herself upon a couch. 

Mrs. Woodman sighed. 

Miss Crompton’s breast heaved with emotion, 
the tears forcing themselves to her eyes. 

Mrs. Woodman made an effort to soothe her, 
but she became more agitated, and giving way, 
burst into a fit of passionate weeping. 

Mrs. Woodman wrung her hands, moving about 
on tiptoe and looking as if the last hope had 
vanished. The suspense was dreadful to her. 
She pictured the worst possible evils, working her- 
self into a state of great excitement. 

“ It is cruel,” sobbed Miss Crompton. 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS. 


379 


“ Cruel ! ” echoed the aunt in utter despair. 

A deep sigh, sorrowful and pathetic, shook Miss 
Crompton’s slender figure. 

“ The Lord help us ! ” exclaimed Mrs. Wood- 
man, fainting and falling to the floor. 

The shock with which she fell startled Miss 
Crompton, and springing to her feet she rushed 
to her aunt’s side. Her own sorrows were in- 
stantly forgotten in this new alarm, and she was 
now the same brave girl she had always been in 
the face of danger — thoughtful and sympathetic. 
With the aid of restoratives Mrs. Woodman soon 
regained consciousness, but complained of suffer- 
ing severe pain on the side that came in contact 
with the floor. Assisted by a servant. Miss 
Crompton placed her aunt upon the couch she 
had but a few moments before occupied herself. 
An examination showed that the flesh on the 
shoulder was already discolored. Fearing that 
Mrs. Woodman’s injuries might be more serious 
than appeared on the surface, she sent for their 
family physician, meanwhile doing everything she 
could for her aunt’s comfort. 

Personal sorrow is always most effectually 
silenced by an effort to soothe the sufferings of 
another. Miss Crompton no longer nursed her 
own grief or allowed her mind to dwell at all 
upon the disturbing thoughts of the morning. In 
a little time the doctor came, and his diagnosis of 
her aunt’s injuries lifted a load from her heart. 


380 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS. 


“No bones are broken,” said he; “merely a 
bruise, but the shock to her nerves was more 
severe. You have no cause for alarm, however. 
With good nursing and nothing to annoy or ex- 
cite her, she will be all right in a week or so. 
These powders,” he added, “ will have a quieting 
effect — one every three hours, commencing now.” 

Toward the middle of the afternoon Mrs. 
Woodman became drowsy, and finally fell into a 
sound sleep. 

Miss Crompton sat beside her, a faithful and 
loving nurse. She blamed herself, feeling that she 
was the cause of her aunt’s suffering. 

“ I should not have given way as I did,” she 
murmured softly, “ but the revelation came so 
suddenly, and it was so unlike him — the cruel 
words — oh ! ” she sighed, clutching her hands 
tightly, “he could not have realized how they 
pierced my heart.” 

And then she thought of her flight into her own 
room, and of Bainbridge’s manly apology for the 
wound he had inflicted ; of his generous, thought- 
ful treatment of her at all other times. 

“ The income I need,” she went on reasoning 
with herself, “and must have. Were I to leave 
him, I could hardly hope to do as well, or to be as 
pleasantly situated. But to stay there, feeling that 
he knows all, would be so hard — so humiliating. 
He cannot respect me for having given him a false 
name, and yet it was the only thing I could do to 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS. 381 

shield myself from the cold, coarse stare of the 
thoughtless world.” 

The afternoon and evening passed, and she had 
not yet decided what to do. Both sides of the 
case were argued many times without a decision. 
Her reason appealed to her to keep her position 
with Bainbridge, but her delicate sensibility caused 
her to shrink from the thought. 

The night went by and the morning came, and 
still she was irresolute. Mrs. Woodman was too ill 
to be left alone. 

“ Fate has perhaps willed that I shall not return 
to him,” thought Miss Crompton, and there was a 
trace of sorrow in her features. “ To be obliged to 
remain away is in effect the same as if I did so of 
my own free will.” 

She did not regret ministering to her aunt, and 
gladly stayed at home on her account. But 
throughout the morning she felt a strange desire 
to continue in Bainbridge’s employ, notwithstand- 
ing the contradictory feelings, from the very 
thought of which she shrank. 


382 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS. 


XLII. 

"DAINBRIDGE sat at his desk writing and 
^ glancing nervously at the clock as the hands 
climbed towards nine, the time for his stenograph- 
er’s arrival. He had spent the evening and the 
early hours of the night in thought. Many times 
he had condemned himself for so cruelly wound- 
ing Miss Crompton. The extreme delicacy of her 
sensibilities he had not considered. Once or twice 
he had almost determined to write a more ample 
apology and send it by messenger, but he ques- 
tioned the wisdom of doing so, fearing that she 
might regard it unfavorably. 

Nine fifteen — nine twenty — twenty five — thirty 
— and no stenographer. Bainbridge moved about 
uneasily, saying to himself : “She is not coming;” 
and yet he counted the minutes, hoping that she 
was merely detained by some trivial cause. At 
twenty minutes to ten a letter was handed to him. 
He tore it open eagerly, and ran his eyes over the 
neatly written pages. It ran as follows : 

Mr. Livingston Bainbridge, 

Dear Sir : — My aunt is too ill to be left alone. I must remain 
with her for several days and perhaps a week. Yon cannot in justice 
to yourself wait for me to return, and I am not certain that I could 
bring myself to the point of going back to your office, knowing how 
you must look upon me. I am very sorry that I am compelled to 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS. 383 

leave you without a stenographer when you are so busy, but my place 
is with the sick at present. 

With sincere thanks for your generous kindness and liberality, 
Very sincerely yours, 

Lela Crompton. 

Bainbridge’s face was brighter now. The deep 
shadows of anxiety that had clouded it vanished, 
leaving it cheerful as of old. Three times he read 
the letter over, finally gathering the conviction 
that she would not leave him on account of the 
thoughtless wound he gave her on the previous 
day. 

The fact that nowhere did she state distinctly 
that she would not return was what cheered him 
most, and he believed that by delicate handling 
she could be persuaded to come back to his office 
again. 

Viewed in the light of his indignation that she 
should presume to seek employment of him, his 
present anxiety is strange. But one rarely studies 
his own differing thoughts, whereas in another he 
is keen to detect the least inconsistency. 

It did not occur to Bainbridge that he was now 
manifesting any special anxiety ; if it had, he 
would have been puzzled to assign any cause, 
other than the sympathy he felt for Miss Cromp- 
ton in her misfortunes. Pressed for an answer, 
he would have called it sympathy and believed 
himself sincere. That she might know that he 
would hold her situation for her, he sent the fol- 
lowing note in reply to hers : 


3^4 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS. 


My Dear Miss Crompton : I am very sorry that your aunt 
sick, but trust her illness is not of a serious character. Can 1 serve 
you in any way ? If so, I hope you will not hesitate to call upon 
me. Do not worry about my being left without a stenographer. I 
can get along very well, and shall certainly do nothing about filling 
the place so long as there is a possibility of your returning. Since 
you had not up to this morning decided that you could come back, 
is it not possible that in your aunt’s illness the hand of destiny has 
been felt, causing you to remain at home long enough to think 
wisely ? This is a thought for your consideration. Deliberate 
calmly and at length. In your note you say : ‘ I am not certain that 
I could bring myself to the point of going back to your office, know- 
ing how you must look upon me.’ I think I understand you, and 
appreciate the delicacy of your feelings. A sensitive nature like 
yours could not well view the matter differently. You do yourself 
credit — do me injustice. The best purpose in life is to make others 
happy — best because it drives away the shadows, giving cheer to the 
world that is reflected far and wide. With such a motive I could 
hardly do otherwise than aim to help and to shield you from all 
annoyances. Your identity is known to myself alone in this office. 
Should you come back, therefore, you had better come as Miss 
Barry, and everything will move along as it did before my unfortu- 
nate blunder. 

Again urging you to call upon me if I can serve you in your aunt’s 
illness, and with the hope that her recovery will be speedy, I remain, 

Very truly yours, 

Livingston Bainbridge. 

The envelope was addressed to “ Miss Barry, in 
the care of Mrs. Woodman, No. — West Eighty 
First Street.” 

Flalf an hour later it was handed to Miss 
Crompton. She opened it eagerly and yet with a 
feeling of reluctance, dreading lest Bainbridge 
would adopt her suggestion and employ another 
stenographer. But the letter was so generous and 
friendly that tears of joy filled her eyes as she ran 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS. 


385 


quickly over the pages. Again she read it, finally 
exclaiming half aloud : “ He is an enigma to me 
— so unlike the men I have known.” 

Taking up the envelope she returned the letter 
to it, and now noticed the superscription it bore. 
“ In the care of Mrs. Woodman,” she said, sur- 
prised. “ How did he learn my aunt’s name ? I 
am sure I have never mentioned her to him ; ” and 
she bent her head in thought, puzzled at this new 
revelation. “ Who is he, that knows so much of 
me, while I know nothing of him ? ” she exclaimed. 
“ I cannot place him — -never met him in society — 
never heard of him except as the publisher of 
Breeze." 

Following her thoughts, she soon found herself 
back in his office, and finally came to the letter he 
had commenced dictating when she fled from 
him. 

She recalled every word of it. They were 
burned into her memory. “ A letter from you al- 
ways brings back our college days,” she repeated, 
with the look of one who had struck the trail he 
had been seeking. “ He must have been a class- 
mate of ” she reasoned, frowning and re- 

fusing to speak the name even in thought. Here 
was a point gained. “ Bainbridge a Yale man,” 
she pondered, and with sharply focused thoughts 
followed back the path she had trodden from 
childhood on. At length she reached the Man- 
hanset, recalled the pleasures of her brief stay 


386 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS, 


there, and studied again the faces of those she had 
cared to give place in her memory. Finally she 
came to the incident of the shattered boat. This 
was somewhat out of the usual character of 
events, and Miss Crompton dwelt upon it for 
some moments, bringing to mind the strange po- 
sition taken by the telegraph operator who 
rescued them. 

“ He claimed to be a college man,” she said to 
herself, “ but would not name the institution to 
which he belonged. I could never account for 
that, and the reason he assigned was so absurd — 
as if a classmate could be mean enough to do such 
a thing.” 

The word mean to her mind was synonymous 
with Van Gilding’s character, and she said, with a 
perceptible shudder, “ He might do it, though. I 
remember with what strange bitterness he spoke 
of the telegraph operator at the time, sneering at 
his claim to be a college man. Suppose it were 
he,” she reasoned, “ and the operator told the truth 
— I wish I could recall his name — his features even 
have gone from my memory. He said he spent 
his vacations at telegraphy, earning money to help 
him through college.” Thinking of telegraphy, 
she recalled the fact that in Bainbridge’s desk she 
had seen a telegraph instrument. “ Absurd,” she 
exclaimed, startled as the thought flashed through 
her mind that her employer and the young man 
who rescued her from the* sinking boat were one 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS. 


387 


and the same. “ Like a novel,” she tried to per- 
suade herself, “such things do not happen in real 
life. Not at all likely that one in his circum- 
stances at that time would now be at the head of 
such a business as Bainbridge has.” But the idea 
grew upon her. There was just enough romance 
in it to quicken the blood and stir the curiosity. 
As the days slipped by, while she filled the role of 
nurse, Bainbridge became more and more the sub- 
ject of her thoughts, and the change from dwelling 
upon her own sorrows did her a world of good. 
The old time color commenced to show itself in 
her cheeks again, and her spirits were more buoy- 
ant than for many a day. Saturday night came, 
and with it a note from Bainbridge inclosing her 
week's salary, though she had been away from his 
office since Tuesday. 

“ I hope,” said he, “ that you are beginning to 
look more favorably upon the idea of coming back 
here whenever you can be spared from the sick 
room ; and I trust that your aunt is doing well.” 

“ Ought I to accept all this money, dear ?” said 
Miss Crompton, running to her aunt with the crisp 
new bills, and looking very happy. 

“A whole week’s salary ?” queried the aunt, with 
no little surprise. 

“Yes, a whole week’s — just see — fifteen dollars, 
and all such pretty bills.” 

“ Mr. Bainbridge must have a kind heart,” re- 
marked Mrs. Woodman, thoughtfully. 


388 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS. 


“He says the best purpose in life is to make 
others happy.” 

“And you have contemplated leaving him to go 
into an office where peihaps you would be rudely 
treated ?” 

“I did think of doing so,” answered Miss Cromp- 
ton softly. 

“I am glad you have changed your mind,” re- 
plied the aunt, satisfied that her niece had done 
so. “ But about retaining the full salary, your 
own good taste will determine that. It is evident 
that he wished you to accept it, or he would not 
have sent it.” 

Miss Crompton had not answered Bainbridge’s 
first letter, as it did not call for a reply, but this 
note afforded her a chance to write to him, and she 
did so, feeling that the task was no great burden. 
Her letter ran as follows : 

Mr. Livingston Bainbridge, 

My Dear Sir : I hardly know how to tliank you sufficiently for 
your kindness to me. The full week’s salary just received was a 
genuine surprise, but I fear I ought not to keep it. I will talk further 
of this when I see you, which I hope will be no later than the middle 
of next week. I have. decided to keep my position with you, if you 
still wish me to do so, and can wait a few days more. In the mean- 
time, if you will send me some editorial work (you know you prom- 
ised to give me some) I will do my best to please you. 

Again thanking you for your kindness, 

Very sincerely yours, 

Lela Crompton. 

“ In a much more cheerful vein,” said Bainbridge 
to himself, as he read the letter, experiencing a 
feeling akin to delight at the thought that she 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS. 389 

would soon be again at her old place in the 
office. 

He replied at once, saying that he should ex- 
pect her as soon as she could safely leave her 
aunt. The tone of his letter was dignified and in 
good taste, though, perhaps, a trifle warmer than 
the mere business side of the matter called for. 
He expressed himself as very glad that she had 
concluded to come back, and said that he would 
take good care that she had no cause to regret her 
decision. 

With the note he sent a book just issued by the 
Scribners, asking her to write a review of .it. 
“ This will give you a chance to show me what 
you can do at literary work,” he said. 

Though ignorant of business and business cus- 
toms, Miss Crompton nevertheless knew enough 
of human nature to feel satisfied that Bainbridge 
treated her with extraordinary deference for an 
employee. 

“ He knows something of my life, I suppose,” 
she said to herself, with aching heart, “ and seeks 
to dull the keen edge of my sorrows with kind- 
ness. ’Tis good to feel that some one cares for 
this in a world so cold and selfish, peopled by a 
race that could condemn my father to prison 
walls.” 

The book was now taken up and read with 
great care, after which she bent her energies to 
writing the review. Tuesday and Wednesday 


390 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS, 


were devoted to this task, and on Thursday morn- 
ing she reported for duty at the usual hour at 
Bainbridge’s office. He was at his desk writing 
when she came in. Rising with a pleasant smile, 
and extending his hand, he greeted her more 
warmly than she had anticipated, sending a flush 
of pleasure to her cheek. 

“ Here is the review,” she said, handing it to 
him, with a tinge of pride. 

“ I shall read it with keen interest,” he replied, 
adding, with a laugh, “ for I am always searching 
for genius.” 

“ If I did not know you were so generous, your 
satire would frighten me.” 

“If my generosity is all that stands between 
you and fright, then I shall cease joking alto- 
gether, as I do not wish you to leave me a second 
time.” 

“ You must have had to work very hard without 
a stenographer,” replied Miss Crompton, modestly. 

“ But I did not mind the work so much,” re- 
turned Bainbridge, speaking as if he would like 
to say more. 

A pause followed. 

“You know. Miss Barry — ” he began. 

Miss Crompton quickly raised her eyes to his, 
questioningly. 

“ Is it not better that you go by this name for 
the present?” said he, understanding her in- 
stantly. 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS. 


391 


“ Perhaps so,” she replied, her face becoming 
very sad again. 

“ I am sure it is the better plan, and think you 
were wise to shield yourself in this way in the 
first place,” returned Bainbridge, sorry to see her 
cheerful spirit vanish. 

“ But the shield did not hide my identity from 
your penetrating reason.” 

“ It did so most effectually until ten days ago, 
and but for a peculiar incident that occurred 
several years before I should never have suspected 
that you were Miss Crompton.” 

“ A peculiar incident ? ” queried the latter, dart- 
ing a quick look at Bainbridge. 

“ Yes,” said he ; “ and through this incident I 
got the clew I had tried so hard to discover.” 

“ Your reference to something that happened 
several years ago strengthens a suspicion of my 
own — one that has been growing with me for 
nearly a week.” 

“ Indeed ! ” exclaimed Bainbridge, a trifle sur- 
prised — “ makes you think we had met before 
you came into my office ? ” 

“ Yes, am I not right?” 

You are, but where ?” 

“ At Shelter Island.” 

“ Yes- -out on the water. A strange meeting, 
wasn’t it ?” 

“ It is like a dream — I cannot realize it,” replied 
Miss Crompton. 


392 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS. 


“ More like a romance, seems to me,” returned 
Bainbridge. 

“ A romance that has entirely reversed our posi- 
tions,” said Miss Crompton, never losing sight of 
the fact that she was merely an employee. 

“ Oh, do not talk of positions,” he replied, an- 
noyed at the thought. “ There is too little sub- 
stance in the idea. It has no place in this estab- 
lishment. But tell me, how did you make the 
discovery ?” 

Miss Crompton explained the process of her 
reasoning, and Bainbridge then told how he 
came to connect her with the young woman he 
had rescued from the damaged boat, adding in 
his ingenuous way, “ Then you asked me to assist 
you. Will you not be equally free with me now ?” 

Miss Crompton thanked him warmly, feeling 
that he was more the friend than the employer. 

It was not till afternoon that Bainbridge found 
time to run over Miss Crompton’s book review. 
Knowing so well how little to expect from un- 
trained writers, he commenced reading it with 
mingled feelings of curiosity and dread. But as 
he proceeded his face lighted up with pleasure, and 
when his eye had reached the last line, he went 
direct to Miss Crompton and congratulated her. 

“ It is very clever,” said he ; “ shows force and 
thought. Your style, too, is excellent — so good 
that I can hardly believe you have never written 
before for publication.” 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS. 


393 


“Are you quite sincere in this praise?” asked 
Miss Crompton, her heart leaping with joy. 

“ Perfectly sincere,” returned he, adding other 
good words for the manuscript. 

“ I cannot thank you enough for this encour- 
agement,” she replied, looking the words she had 
uttered. 

“Your style, and the thought you have put into 
this one paper, give abundant promise of better 
work to come from your pen.” 

“ Such flattering words bewilder me, coming so 
unexpectedly,” said Miss Crompton. “ Though I 
do not doubt your sincerity, I cannot realize that 
this little writing merits such praise.” 

“I am not misleading you,” said Bainbridge in 
a way to inspire confidence. “You show too much 
promise of good literary work to devote any fur- 
ther time to stenography and typewriting.” 

“ And you really want to send me away so soon 
— the very first day after my return ?” queried Miss 
Crompton, with feelings of regret. 

“ If I were to consider myself in the matter, I 
should certainly urge you to stay here ; but last 
week when you fled from me I came in here to you 
and promised to be your friend as well as your 
employer. To keep you here at your present em- 
ployment, when I am satisfied that you are capable 
of undertaking a higher grade of work, would be a 
mean sort of friendship. Having had an oppor- 
tunity to do you a good turn once before, and 


394 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS. 


knowing something of the misfortunes that have 
come upon you, for which you are in no way re- 
sponsible, I feel a special interest in helping you. 
Will you not then become my pupil, undertaking 
such literary work as seems to me best suited to 
you ?” 

“Friendship such as this contrasts so sharply 
with the way of the world, as I have known it, that I 
almost doubt my own senses,” replied Miss Cromp- 
ton. “ I can hardly realize the proposition you 
make me, it is so generous and unexpected, and I 
fear if I were to accept it I should disappoint you 
so much.” 

“ I feel no uneasiness about that, since I do not 
often make a mistake in my estimate of people,” 
returned Bainbridge, his spirits rising at the 
thought of bringing out a literary genius. 

“ And all the time I spent in learning type- 
writing and stenography will be thrown away,” 
mused Miss Crompton. 

“ Not at all,” protested Bainbridge. “ It has 
proved a means to an end, a stepping stone to 
something better. Little things turn the course 
of our lives. But for your knowledge of stenog- 
raphy you would never have come into this office, 
and through coming here you find an opportunity 
to commence a literary career. Moreover, you 
will find both stenography and typewriting useful 
in your new field.” 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS. 


395 


XLIII. 

T T is now the early fall, and Miss Crompton has 
^ just commenced the writing of a novel. Six 
months have gone by since she left Bainbridge’s 
office, and they have yielded her an income from 
her pen averaging a trifle over twenty dollars a 
week. But of far greater value to her than this 
sum has been the training she has received and 
the confidence she has gained. 

Bainbridge never half did anything. He had 
undertaken to bring her out as a writer, and he 
bent his energies to the task. At first his motive 
was one of generosity, but after a time it became 
a matter of strong personal interest. He had 
little faith in the theory that men are born 
authors. 

“ It is a question of training, accident, or more 
often one of necessity, that makes a man write 
books,” he claimed. The idea was something of 
a hobby with him, and he aimed to prove by Miss 
Crompton that he was right. 

The grasp of her mind and the felicity with 
which she expressed her thoughts surprised and 
encouraged him. Yet there was much for her to 
learn about the art of composition, and he went 
over every line of her writings with her, criticis- 


396 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS. 


ing and suggesting improvements. Under such 
guidance her progress in literary work could 
hardly have been otherwise than rapid. Nothing 
encourages a young author so much as to see his 
writings in print. Bainbridge knew this, and ex- 
ercised care that Miss Crompton should under- 
take no work which with his pruning would not be 
acceptable for publication. 

From the mechanical side of authorship he took 
her to the realm of thought, leading her on to a 
bolder and broader plane of reasoning. People 
and motives were discussed philosophically, giv- 
ing her a deeper insight into human nature. 
Finally they passed into the world of fancy, where 
together they worked up a unique plot for a 
novel. 

“ This will give you a chance to try your hand 
at story writing,” said Bainbridge, with enthu- 
siasm. “ It deals with a phase of life with which 
you are familiar.” 

“ But it is quite as much your idea as mine,” 
protested Miss Crompton. 

“ I could not work it up as skillfully, however, 
as you can. Your imagination is stronger than 
mine, and you have a more perfect knowledge of 
the people to be portrayed. Moreover, I am not 
going in for the honors of the novelist, except as 
they are reflected upon me from you, as one who 
had something to do with bringing you out.” 

The novel once begun, Bainbridge found a 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS. 


397 


plausible pretext for spending many more even- 
ings with Miss Crompton than before. He fol- 
lowed her manuscript carefully, sometimes sug- 
gesting slight changes, but much more frequently 
praising her work warmly. His good words were 
an inspiration to her, spurring her on to her best 
efforts. The development of the plot was so 
clever, and the satire so keen, that Bainbridge 
found himself amazed at the genius she was show- 
ing. 

Fifteen days from the time the last page of 
manuscript was finished the story was in book 
form, handsomely bound in cloth. Bainbridge 
took half a dozen copies to Miss Crompton in the 
evening. How her eyes danced with joy as she 
turned the book in her hand, examining it critic- 
ally. 

“ I think it is beautifully bound, and printed on 
such good paper.” 

“ I am glad it pleases you,” returned Bain- 
bridge, sharing her happiness. 

“ It is lovely, and such good print.” 

“ Let me congratulate you as the author of a 
very clever book,” said Bainbridge, extending his 
hand and clasping hers with rather more pressure 
than the occasion seemed to warrant. 

‘*1 owe it all to you,” replied Miss Crompton, 
the warm blood mantling her cheeks. 

“ Nonsense,” said he, “ you owe it to your own 
genius.” 


398 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS. 


Miss Crompton protested against any such 
view, insisting that all the credit belonged to 
him. 

“ The book will make a great hit,” said Bain- 
bridge, “ and will give you a reputation. I only 
wish your own name could have appeared as the 
author, but some time, I have no doubt, you 
will receive the credit that your work really 
deserves.” 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS. 


399 


XLIV. 

A T one of the small tables in Delmonico’s, 
Bainbridge sat alone, eating his dinner and 
studying, meanwhile, the animated faces of those 
about him. Everybody seemed to be happy, 
laughing, chatting — getting the fullest possible en- 
joyment from the meal. He could not help con- 
trasting himself with them. 

“ How much better they relish the food than I! ” 
he thought. 

His dinner was a somber necessity ; theirs was a 
scene of pleasure. 

For a good many months Bainbridge had eaten 
alone, but his loneliness never came home to him 
with such force as it did tonight. “ Does food of 
itself such as this — as good perhaps as the world 
affords — does it constitute a dinner for man ?” he 
soliloquized. “ Is there not another side of his 
nature — one that feeds not on substance, but which 
depends upon the warmth of genial associations 
for life ? If so, then I am starving the better 
portion of myself,” he went on, “ starving it and 
becoming more and more the animal all the time.” 

With this feeling he returned to his bachelor 
quarters. The rooms were handsomely furnished. 
A comfortable lounge, several easy chairs, pictures. 


400 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS. 


bric-a-brac, statuary and a fine library — all that 
he could wish for in the way of surroundings to 
minister to his comfort. 

But he was not happy. There was no warmth in 
all this luxury — no soul, no companionship. He 
lighted his cigar, but the flavor of the Havana to- 
night lacked its usual sweetness. 

“ No more proof to read,” he sighed, “ no more 
instructions necessary and his eyes rested upon 
the fire, while his thoughts pushed out beyond the 
narrow confines of his room. 

“ I wonder what she is doing tonight,’ he mused 
— “ writing perhaps, or more likely singing to her 
aunt. How sweet and soft her voice is, and her 
touch puts soul into the piano.” 

After a time he picked up a novel and com- 
menced to read, but his eyes wandered constantly 
from the lines. The heroine of the book — how dull 
and commonplace beside the heroine of his heart ! 
The latter was to him everything that a woman 
should be — his ideal, sweet mannered, intelligent, 
beautiful in face and figure. 

“ But this creation of the novelist,” he said to 
himself contemptuously, “ what is she? Weak — a 
pretty face without character — an insipid sort of 
girl — flirts well — laughs on the slightest provoca- 
tion — but no heart — no breadth of reason.” 

With this expression he threw the book upon 
the table and lighted a fresh cigar. He drew a few 
vigorous puffs, and then slowly emitting the smoke 


I AM SO HAPPY TO SEE MY LITTEE BOOK PRAISED SO WARMLY.’ — SEE PAGE 404. 


4 


\ 







A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS, 


401 


from his mouth watched it curl and eddy as it 
wound upward, and lost itself in the air. But his 
mind was not with his eyes. He was thinking of 
Miss Crompton and reviewing his relations with 
her. “ She guards herself so carefully,” he medi- 
tated, “ never saying anything that would give me 
the slightest encouragement. Sometimes I think 
she cares for me more than she will allow herself 
to believe. Little things suggest these thoughts 
to me. But they are so delicate, so unpronounced, 
that I cannot safely rely upon my judgment re- 
garding them.” 

Presently he roused himself from his reverie and 
in the absence of anything better to do decided to 
call upon a young woman whose acquaintance he 
had recently made. She was at home, and ex- 
pressed herself as delighted at seeing him. An 
hour spent in her society, and Bainbridge was glad 
to escape from her effusive small talk and return to 
his rooms. 

“ An evening wasted,” he said to himself, as he 
prepared for bed — “ wasted utterly ;” and the 
look of disgust on his face showed that he felt 
quite as deeply as his words would indicate. 

The following morning brought the first review 
of Miss Crompton’s book. It was by the JVeiv 
York Tribune. Bainbridge read it with a heart 
overflowing with delight. “ This will give me a 
good excuse for calling upon her tonight,” he 
thought, and his pulse beat more rapidly than for 


402 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS, 


a week. How the day dragged with him, though 
his hands were full of business, and business 
usually reduces time to a minimum. 

It was perhaps a quarter past eight in the even- 
ing when Bainbridge entered Miss Crompton’s 
presence. He was dressed in excellent taste, and 
looked his best — a manly fellow with fine 
physique. 

“ I am very glad to see you,” said Miss Cromp- 
ton, forgetting herself for an instant and betray- 
ing a pleasure at his coming which she would 
have preferred to conceal. 

“ Nothing puts a man more at ease than to be 
so cordially welcomed,” returned Bainbridge. 

Miss Crompton’s cheeks flushed, the added 
color making her very beautiful. 

“ I hope you had no doubt about being cordi- 
ally welcomed by one for whom you have done so 
much as you have for me.” 

“ I believed you would be glad to see me, yet 
one can easily make himself a burden by calling 
too frequently.” 

“You need have no fears on that account. 
Your presence is always a pleasure,” she replied 
guardedly, as if she would like to say more, but 
dare not do so. Turning the subject she added, 
“ how well you look tonight — the first time you 
have ever honored me by wearing evening dress.” 

“ But this is the first time my call has ever been 
strictly social,” replied Bainbridge, thanking her 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS. 


403 


for the compliment, and taking a seat on the 
sofa. 

“ I appreciate this one especially, then, since 
you have taken the trouble to come to see me 
when you could spend your evening in society.” 

And can you imagine that it is so much 
trouble to me, or that I would prefer the society 
to which you refer?” 

“You must not ask me to imagine anything,” 
she laughed, cleverly avoiding his question. 
“ You know I am saving up all my imagination 
for another book.” 

“ Yes, I know — the fact slipped my mind for 
the moment. But speaking of another book re- 
minds me of something I have to show you — 
won’t you come here ? ” indicating the other end 
of the sofa. 

Miss Crompton hesitated — yielded — sat beside 
him. 

“ It’s about you and your book,” he said, taking 
the review from his pocket. 

“ About my book ! ” exclaimed Miss Crompton, 
at once interested. 

“ Yes, and it is as handsome a notice as I ever 
saw.” 

“ Do let me see it ! ” exclaimed Miss Crompton 
with feminine impatience. 

“ See, all of that — nearly a column,” said Bain- 
bridge, handing her the review. 

She read it with the eager pleasure with which 


404 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS. 


a child investigates a new toy. The very pro- 
nounced praise of the Ti'ibune fairly intoxicated 
her with happiness. The reception accorded to 
the book was a veritable triumph. Tears were in 
her eyes when the last line was reached, and turn- 
ing to Bainbridge she said impressively, “ I owe it 
all to you — you are the best friend in the world, 
and I am so happy to see my little book praised 
so warmly.” 

“ It makes me equally happy,” returned Bain- 
bridge, sharing her enthusiasm ; “and the best of 
all is that the book will sell. This review alone 
will make a great demand for it.” 

“ You know you said all along that it would 
have a good sale.” 

“ Yes, I remember, and if it goes as I believe it 
will, your income from it will amount to quite a 
snug little fortune. You have won a great tri- 
umph, Miss Crompton, in writing this book,” con- 
tinued Bainbridge, now very serious — and speak- 
ing as one who did not trifle with words, he 
added, ‘ You have done something else — you have 
won my admiration and my heart. May I 
not ” 

“ Oh, this must not be ! ” interrupted Miss 
Crompton, showing inexpressible pain as she 
spoke. 

“ Must not be ! ” echoed Bainbridge, the color 
leaving his face. 

“ No, must not be,” she repeated, burying her 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS, 405 

face in her hands, and yielding for a moment to 
an emotion that swayed her as a tree is tossed by 
the tempest. 

Bainbridge was almost unnerved as he beheld 
her agony and realized what her words meant to 
him. 

A half hour passed between these two, and how 
it passed the reader shall never know from me. 
There are secrets and feelings so delicate, so 
sacred, that even the novelist should respect them 
and refrain from revealing them to the world. 

Satisfied in his own mind that Miss Crompton 
loved him, Bainbridge now pressed her for a reason 
for the position she took. He managed this with 
delicacy and clever tact, learning in the end that 
the stain upon her family name was to her mind 
sufficient to preclude any closer relation than 
friendship between herself and him. 

“You have been too kind to me,” she said, 
slowly measuring her words as she spoke, “ too 
kind by far for me to allow you to make a false 
move from which I can save you. I think too 
much of you to permit myself to drag you down 
to my own social level. Your future now is rich 
with promise, and you should improve the oppor- 
tunities you have. So long as my father, innocent 
though I know he is, stands condemned before the 
world, I — his daughter — must bear the stain of 
crime. Yoti shall never feel its blighting influence 
through meT 


4o6 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS. 


Bainbridge sought with all his power to con- 
vince her that she was wrong — that in so gener- 
ously sacrificing herself in what she took to be his 
interest, she was really wounding him almost be- 
yond recovery. But it was all to no purpose, and 
he left her and went his way sorrowing. The 
heart of each bled, and there was no physician to 
dress the wounds — no tender hand to allay the 
pain. 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS, 


407 


XLV. 



HESE words ran in Bainbridge’s mind as he 


^ tossed upon his bed through the long hours 
of the night, sleepless and utterly miserable. 

“ So long as my father, innocent though I 
know he is, stands convicted before the world, I — 
his daughter — must bear the stain of crime. You 
shall never feel its blighting influence through rneF 

At dead of night, when all about is still, one 
sometimes thinks as he can at no other time. The 
fact that he cannot sleep suggests the idea that his 
mind is stimulated to an unnatural degree, and 
when so stimulated brighter and broader thoughts 
are the natural product. Be this as it may with 
others, so it proved with Bainbridge, for as he lay 
upon his bed, turning from side to side, he struck 
a train of thoughts that startled him and set his 
brain awhirl. 

The east was streaked with the gray of dawn 
before his eyes were closed. All night long his 
mind had been absorbed in thought. Hour after 
hour he argued, reasoned, studied motives, and 
dissected acts. The result of this was a theory 
so well grounded that he was almost ready to agree 
with Miss Crompton that her father was innocent 
of the crime for which he stood convicted." 


4o8 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS. 


‘‘If he is not guilty/’ exclaimed Bainbridge, “oh, 
horrible, horrible ! What must his feelings have 
been — how inconceivable his suffering ! ” And, 
with the determination characteristic of him, he 
added, “ if he is innocent he shall be rescued from 
prison walls, if my time and rriy money can doit.” 

Immediately on reaching his office Bainbridge 
sent to his lawyer for the report of the trial “ State 
of New York vs. Crompton.” 

As soon as it came he commenced studying the 
evidence, and was delighted as he proceeded to find 
that not a word of testimony was recorded that 
would tend in any way to upset his theory of the 
murder. And when the entire report had been gone 
through he threw the book down with an exclama- 
tion of disgust at the stupidity, as he termed it, 
that detectives and defense alike had shown in con- 
ducting their respective sides of the case. 

But Bainbridge was wrong here, and did not 
show his usual discretion. He forgot that he had 
information that the detectives did not possess. 
Instead of exhibiting stupidity, they had shown 
themselves remarkably clever men. But theories 
cannot be manufactured from air. There must be 
something for the mind to focus itself upon — some 
tangible fact to start with. In this case the de- 
tectives looked in every direction for a clew. They 
searched, studied, consulted, and each time were 
forced back to the only theory that they could 
discover — namely, that Mr. Crompton committed 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS. 


409 


the crime. Then they applied themselves to the 
matter of discovering evidence that would justify 
such a conclusion. 

Bainbridge now sent Goggins out to ascertain 
if possible the whereabouts of Theodore Migzer. 
He also sent a note to Rawlinson’s Detective 
Bureau, asking that a clever detective be sent to 
him at once. It was perhaps an hour and a half 
before Goggins returned, and Bainbridge became 
impatient. 

The substance of Goggins’s information was 
this : that Migzer was supposed to be in St. Louis ; 
that he was known there as Colonel Migzer, and 
was cutting a big figure as a capitalist and a 
dashing operator on exchange ; that he dare not 
return to New York, fearing arrest for the fraudu- 
lent failure he had made. 

Armed with these facts, Bainbridge decided to 
start by the first train for St. Louis, to hunt up 
Colonel Migzer. He arranged his business affairs, 
leaving everything in charge of Goggins, and then 
wrote the following note : 

My Dear Miss Crompton : 

I leave at six o’clock tonight for St. Louis. An important matter 
calls me there at once. Just how long I shall be away is uncertain. 
Mail will reach me at the Southern Hotel. Will you not write to me ? 
I need not assure you that a letter from you would be more than wel- 
come — you know it already. 

With very best wishes, I remain, 

Faithfully yours, 

Livingston Bainbridge. 

This note sealed and mailed, and Bainbridge 


410 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS, 


closeted himself with the detective — a keen, bright 
faced man of thirty five, named Gregory — Phineas 
Gregory. He came with a letter from the bureau 
speaking in the highest terms of his ability, and 
assuring Bainbridge that any confidence intrusted 
to Gregory would not suffer. 

“ You are the man I want,” said Bainbridge ; and 
then he told him the theory on which he had com • 
menced working, and instructed him what he 
wanted done. “ I wish you to report to me daily 
the result of your efforts,” added Bainbridge, 
and I will give you further instructions from St. 
Louis. Now throw yourself into this matter with 
energy, Mr. Gregory, and you shall be handsomely 
rewarded. We will see what there is in this theory 
in short order, and if an innocent man is under- 
going a life sentence, that sentence must and shall 
be canceled without waste of time.” 

Saying this, Bainbridge extended his hand to 
the detective and bid him good day, going almost 
immediately thereafter to his own room to prepare 
for the journey. 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS, 


XLVI. 



S good luck would have it, Bainbridge found 


^ on arriving in St. Louis that Colonel Mig- 
zer lived at the Southern Hotel, the same at 
which he stopped. “ This is better than I antici- 
pated,” said he to himself. “ I shall have little 
difficulty in meeting him now.” And he was 
right in this conclusion, for at noon, while he was 
talking with the clerk of the hotel, Migzer came 
up and asked for his mail. 

Nothing this time,” said the clerk. 

“ Nothing ! ” repeated Migzer, and turned to go. 

Is not this Mr. Migzer ? ” said Bainbridge, 
speaking as one glad to see an old acquaintance 
in a strange city. 

‘‘Yes, Migzer is my name,” replied the former, 
darting a quick look at his interrogator. 

“ Don’t you remember me ? ” asked Bainbridge, 
extending his hand. 

“ Your face is familiar, but for the minute I 
cannot place you.” 

“ Bainbridge is my name- -the publisher of 
Breeze T 

“ Oh, yes, Bainbridge — strange I did not recog- 
nize you at once — very glad to see you, my dear 
fellow ; been in the city long?” 


412 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS. 


“ No, not long — got in this morning, and yours 
is the only familiar face I have seen.” 

“ I’m right glad to see you, Bainbridge, for of all 
the men I have ever known you showed the most 
pluck in undertaking the publication of your 
weekly without any capital. I have thought of 
you a thousand times, and always wondered how 
you ever pulled through ; and I have thought of 
you, too, because I did not treat you as I should 
have done ; but there was a cause — nothing that 
reflected on you — perhaps you understand it al- 
ready.” 

“ I think I could guess,” returned Bainbridge, 
laughing, as if the whole thing were a trivial 
matter. 

“ Yes, I am sure you could — in my office, you 
know, and was so bitter in his dislikes.” 

“ Few know that better than I,” returned Bain- 
bridge. 

“ I should judge not by the shameful way he 
treated you the day I introduced you to him,” 
replied Migzer. “ I was frightfully cut up over 
that, and didn’t know what to do.” 

“ It was a delicate matter for you to handle. I 
was, of course, very much surprised at seeing him 
with you, and terribly disappointed at not getting 
the business you had promised me.” 

“ That is what annoyed me most,” said Migzer. 
“ I wanted to keep faith with you, but he said so 
many mean things of you and opposed my assist- 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS. 


413 


ing you so strongly on personal grounds, that I 
yielded to his wishes, and have felt mean over the 
matter ever since. I hope you can appreciate my 
situation, and will overlook the matter.” 

“ Certainly ; I understand the whole thing,” re- 
turned Bainbridge, “and cherish no ill feelings 
towards you.” 

“You relieve me of a burden when I hear you 
say that, Mr. Bainbridge, for the matter has al- 
ways troubled me,” replied Migzer, suiting his ex- 
pression to the words. “ And now,” he continued, 
in his liberal, whole souled way, “ what can I do 
for you to make amends for past failings? Shall 
I not show you the city ? — our fair grounds are 
especially fine, and there are a good many points 
of interest — theaters, and so forth.” 

“ You are very kind indeed, Mr. Migzer. I will 
gladly accept your courtesy, though you do not 
need to make amends, as you say, for that matter 
is all right.” 

“ I know, my dear fellow ; but it will be a 
pleasure to me — think of it in that way, please.” 

Later in the day Bainbridge went out riding 
with Migzer, and their conversation gradually 
drifted around to Van Gilding. 

“ By the way, what has become of him ?” asked 
Bainbridge, “ never hear of him now — he seems 
to have dropped completely out of the world.” 

“ Yes, dropped out, that is a fact,” returned 
Migzer, “ is in Europe, I believe.” 


414 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS, 


“ Doing any business ?” 

“ He do business ?” exclaimed Migzer. 

“ I do not understand you, I fear.” 

“ Why, the fact is, that man Van Gilding couldn’t 
make a 'success of selling peanuts.” 

“ You surprise me. He had a good deal of dash 
in college, and was considered very bright.” 

“ I can’t help that — I know from experience — 
owed me over seventy five thousand dollars be- 
yond his capacity to pay, and precipitated my 
failure.” 

“ Indeed ! ” exclaimed Bainbridge. “ That was 
quite a severe blow.” 

“ Severe enough to break up my business,” re- 
turned Migzer bitterly, and then went on to tell 
Bainbridge something of Van Gilding’s connec- 
tion with the Home Journal and Welcome Com- 
panion. 

“ This is indeed news to me,” replied Bain- 
bridge. “ But I am most surprised that he should 
go into business at all. In college he gave us to 
understand that he was very rich. Then, too, he 
was engaged to the daughter of a very wealthy 
man, I was told.” 

“ You know who she was ?” ■ 

“ I heard at the time the engagement was an- 
nounced,” returned Bainbridge, with a blank ex- 
pression. 

“Miss Crompton — the daughter of the man who 
murdered Stover.” 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS. 


415 


“Is it possible?” exclaimed Bainbridge, as- 
suming great surprise. “And did he marry her?” 

“ No, left her the minute her father was sus- 
pected of the crime — cold blooded villain.” 

“ I should think he would have married her — her 
money would, no doubt, have fixed him all right, 
and saved him from bankruptcy.” 

“There was the rub,” returned Migzer ; “ yes, 
there was where the whole trouble lay,” and con- 
tinuing he explained what the reader already 
knows, but what was entirely new to Bainbridge, 
namely. Van Gilding’s object in coming down town 
to business, his bitter dislike for Mr. Crompton 
and his desire to marry the daughter — a desire 
stimulated in no small degree by his purpose to 
secure the great wealth that he supposed she would 
inherit at her father’s death. 

While listening to this recital Bainbridge felt 
his blood boil with indignation. Little by little 
he drew from Migzer, by clever touches, the whole 
story of Van Gilding’s financial embarrassment, 
and when he had finished his heart beat so with 
agitation that he found it difficult to maintain a 
cool exterior. 

The following morning he received a letter from 
Miss Crompton expressing great surprise at his 
sudden departure for St. Louis. It was plain to 
Bainbridge that she was a good deal more alarmed 
than she would admit. 

“ It is perhaps only natural that she should feel 


4i6 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS, 


so,” said he to himself. “ Our last meeting ended 
so unfortunately — thinks I am crazy, very likely — 
believe Fll telegraph her, so that she will not 
worry, poor child — has enough to trouble her al- 
ready.” 

In his telegram he said : 

Letter received. Very g;lad to hear from you. Business all tran- 
sacted, start for home tonight. Wrote you yesterday. 

And then he wrote out the following letter to 
Phineas Gregory the detective : 

You are on the right track. Follow it up. Will see you day after 
tomorrow. My trip more successful than I anticipated. 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS, 


417 


XLVII. 

T)AINBRIDGE called on Miss Crompton the 
^ first evening after his return from St. Louis. 
She showed that she was much more glad to see 
him than he had anticipated. Her welcome was 
more than cordial, though evidently guarded, as 
if to conceal the secret of her heart. 

After half an hour’s conversation, and when they 
were alone, Bainbridge said to her, “ You were a 
good deal surprised at my sudden departure for 
St. Louis. Would you be still more surprised, I 
wonder, should I tell you that I went in your in- 
terest ? ” 

“In my interest?” exclaimed Miss Crompton 
doubtingly. 

“ Yes, in your interest, and you wonder, I see, 
how I could serve you by such a trip.” 

“ I do indeed,” she replied, puzzled. 

“ Miss Crompton,” said Bainbridge, speaking 
deliberately and in a peculiar manner that indi- 
cated that something of great weight was coming 
— “ Miss Crompton, can you be very brave and 
help me in a matter that bears on your happi- 
ness ? ” 

“ I think I can,” she replied resolutely, but with 
a visible shudder. 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS, 


418. 

“ I have something to say to you which will re- 
sult in making you very happy, or will cause you 
much anxiety — much keen suffering. Are you 
equal to the task ?” 

“ You know if I should hear it. I will trust to 
your friendship — to your judgment,” she replied, 
very pale and holding fast to the arm of her 
chair. 

“ You can help me,” said he, “ else I would not 
come to you with uncertainty,. I would go to 
your aunt, but she cannot stand excitement. I 
wish to speak of your father’s innocence. 

“The last time I saw you, you spoke to me of 
him. You had never mentioned his name to me 
before, and until then I knew nothing of your 
strong conviction that he was innocent of the 
crime for which he is now in prison. After leav- 
ing you I went direct to my rooms, but was too 
much depressed to sleep. Your remark about 
your father’s innocence I found myself repeating 
again and again, till at length I came to wonder if 
it could be possible that you were right. My 
mind was very active, and I thought for hours, 
studying the possibilities of the case — aiming to 
discover some rational theory of the crime other 
than the one on which his conviction was based. 
I did not follow the trial closely, and naturally 
accepted the verdict as a matter of course. I had 
an object in not interesting myself in your father’s 
cause, which I will explain later. 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS. 


419 


“ I wish there were some way,” continued Bain- 
bridge, hesitatingly, “ to tell you the result of my 
reasoning without reference to one — the mention 
of whose name will, I fear, wound you cruelly.” 

He could not have suggested Van Gilding’s 
name more delicately, and yet the shock to Miss 
Crompton was inexpressibly severe. Her silent 
suffering was torture to him, and he had already 
condemned himself for saying so much when she 
requested him to continue with what he had to 
say. 

“ I fear I have made a mistake,” he began. 

“ No,” she said, summoning up her resolution. 
“ The worst is over now. Proceed.” 

“ No theory of a crime,” he went on, “ pos- 
sesses much value unless it shows that the one 
suspected had an object in committing the deed. 
Supposing that your father is innocent, the mis- 
leading fact in the case, it seems to me, is that 
Stover was the victim ; and this is the weakest 
point in my theory, because I can find no reason 
why the person I suspect should want to have him 
put out of the way. If your father had been mur- 
dered, I argued, then I could see how the crime 
might have been committed for a purpose. But 
as he was not, I was at a loss to make use of the 
knowledge I had of a certain suspicious incident, 
until the thought came to me that Stover was 
perhaps murdered by mistake, when your father 
was the intended victim.” 


420 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS, 


Miss Crompton shuddered at this suggestion, 
but followed Bainbridge with almost breathless 
interest. 

“ This was only one thought among a thou- 
sand,” he continued, “ but it was the only one 
that stood the test of reason. Accepting it then, 
for argument’s sake, as a fact, I went on studying 
the various elements in the case and comparing 
them with the facts in my possession. I will tell 
you what they were and he related in careful 
detail the incident wherein Van Gilding and 
Briggs were seen by him on a dark night on 
Riverside Drive. 

‘‘ This,” said he, “ was just previous to the mur- 
der of Stover in 5^our father’s home. I saw this 
same man Briggs again, at the boat that look 
Van Gilding to Europe. He arrived too late to 
see the latter, and was evidently greatly disap- 
pointed. Once since I have seen him, under my 
window at night. That was when you first com- 
menced working for me. He was somewhat in- 
toxicated, and dropped this little memorandum 
book, which I went out to pick up. It contains 
several statements that helped me in working out 
my theory of the crime. If I am right, your 
father is innocent, and this man Briggs is the 
hired assassin of Nathaniel Stover.” 

“ Let me see the book,” replied Miss Crompton, 
holding out a trembling hand. 

Bainbridge passed it to her, watching with keen- 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS. 


421 


est interest the expression of her face as her eyes 
fell upon the writing. 

“Briggs!” she exclaimed, her excitement in- 
creasing. “ Did you say his name was Briggs?” 

“ Yes, that is what Van Gilding called him.” 

“ And you said he had a scar on his right 
temple ?” 

“ Yes.” 

“ Resembled a servant ?” 

“ Yes, looked and spoke like one.” 

“ Medium height ?” 

“Yes.” 

“ A perfect description,” she went on ; “ and this 
writing — his, I am positive — same peculiar capital 
G that I have noticed so many times, and the little 
y turning backward, and the capital J where there 
should be a small one. Oh ! horrible ! ” she ex- 
claimed with a shudder, and throwing the book 
from her as if it were stained with human blood, 
she hid her face in her hands. 

Bainbridge was satisfied that the murderer must 
have been familiar with the Crompton home, else 
he never could have accomplished the crime with- 
out detection. And this was the chief reason why 
he went to Miss Crompton at this time with his 
theory, as it was necessary that he should know 
everything relative to the servants who had been 
in her father’s employ. 

After becoming a little less agitated, she told him 
that the man whom he had known as Briggs was 


422 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS. 


to the best of her belief a discharged butler named 
Michael McCaffery. 

“ He became so addicted to drink that father 
was obliged to send him away,” she continued. 

“ How long before the murder did this occur ?” 
asked Bainbridge, feeling more and more that 
he had discovered the true explanation of the 
mystery. 

“ About six weeks, as near as I can remember. 
There was something of a scene, I know, and he 
was very ugly about being discharged.” 

“ It is strange that he was not suspected,” replied 
Bainbridge. 

“ Suspected of murdering Stover? ” queried Miss 
Crompton. 

“Well, no, it wasn’t strange, I suppose — just as 
I told you, the misleading fact is that the wrong 
man was murdered. And this idea would never 
have occurred to me but for a knowledge of the 
suspicious incidents I have related.” 

Continuing, Bainbridge explained the object of 
his St. Louis trip, and repeated all the conversa- 
tion between himself and Migzer. 

“ And you knew nothing of this till you saw 
Migzer in St. Louis?” queried Miss Crompton, 
her eyes fixed on Bainbridge with utter amaze- 
ment. 

“ No, nothing, except that Van Gilding’s prop- 
erty was sold at sheriff’s sale to satisfy debts. That 
I learned from Briggs’s memorandum book — here, 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS. 


423 


see,” and he showed her the entry. “ This man 
Migzer,” continued Bainbridge, “ I knew to be a 
villain — an unprincipled scoundrel, and, aware that 
Van Gilding was associated with him, I thought it 
worth the trouble to hunt him up, with the hope 
that I might learn something of importance. The 
information I got was just what I needed to give 
substance and vitality to what before was rather a 
vague idea. 

“ I told you a few moments ago that any theory 
that did not show a well defined object for the 
crime was of little account. Follow me and see if 
my reasoning is not good, when I suggest that Van 
Gilding would have found it greatly to his advan- 
tage could your father have been suddenly re- 
moved. According to Migzer, Van Gilding dis- 
liked him because he opposed his engagement to 
you. He went down town with the express pur- 
pose to deceive him, pretending to be engaged in 
business, when he had no intention of doing so. 
But he fell under bad influence — into the hands of 
one who deliberately planned his ruin for selfish 
gain. He became involved — had to raise money 
(the very trap this man Migzer had set for him, 
doubtless) — unbosomed himself to Migzer — held 
your father responsible for his losses, and as he 
brooded over them, his dislike grew till at length 
his feelings became most bitter — Migzer furnished 
the money to tide over his embarrassments — he 
trusted him with blind faith — his hatred for your 


424 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS. 


father increasing all the while — goes into the pub- 
lishing business — loses everything — becomes al- 
most insane — is desperate — something must be 
done — his connection with the fraudulent publica- 
tion will become known — your father will learn of 
his collapse — will insist upon breaking off the en- 
gagement — his hopes will be dashed — his standing 
ruined — his pride trodden in the dirt. No, such a 
disgrace would never do for a Van Gilding — and 
then the thought of work, common, vulgar work, 
as a means of earning bread to feed upon ! 

“ Contrast this now with the other side. You 
are an only child — your father is very wealthy — 
Van Gilding is engaged to you — you have beauty, 
social standing — all he could wish in a wife — loves 
you, perhaps. With your father dead you inherit 
all of his vast wealth — Van Gilding marries you — 
your property becomes his to manage — he .easily 
covers his debts — the future is to his taste — a life 
of luxury and idleness. Between these two ex- 
tremes stands what ? — merely the life of one man 
— a man whom he hates — a man responsible for 
his downfall. What is such a life to him ? — alas, 
’tis human and he shrinks from the thought of 
blotting it out. Then he turns to his misfortunes 
and realizes that something must be done. He 
thinks till his brain whirls, and no escape from 
the impending doom — no escape but one, and 
that the taking of your father’s life. And as this 
thought recurs to him again and again, the horror 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS. 


425 


of the act grows less, yet he shrinks from consid- 
ering any means of accomplishing the deed. He 
was not a hardened criminal, but the pressure 
brought to bear upon him by Migzer was too 
great. He had not the strength of character to 
stand boldly up and meet the issue like a man. 
He shrank from the exposure, from the cold looks 
of those who had courted him for his money and 
position — from the breaking off of the engagement 
— from poverty, from common toil — and seeks es- 
cape, if only temporary, at any cost — whatever 
cost, it matters little to him, for now perhaps he 
even contemplates suicide as the only avenue left to 
him. And with these thoughts he walks the 
streets in despair, meeting in an evil moment 
your discharged butler, who pours forth his 
wrath against your father. 

“ ‘ The problem is solved ! ’ suggests itself to 
Van Gilding. ^ Here is the way to Crompton’s 
removal,’ and he leads the butler on- -little sug- 
gestions and expressions intensify his hatred. 
And now we see them together in a close carri- 
age, driving on a lonely road at night. What 
better place for planning the bloody purpose ? 

“ At length the fatal night arrives — Stover calls 
unexpectedly upon your father — is sitting with 
his back to the door, his head bent over a book, 
as the evidence shows — your father is absent 
from the room — the assassin steals in on tiptoe — 
sees Stover — excited at the crime he is about to 


426 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS. 


commit, he mistakes him for your father — stabs 
him to the heart, and makes his escape. The 
plot has failed — your father is arrested — Van 
Gilding’s pride will not allow him to marry the 
daughter of one charged with this atrocious crime 
— the engagement is broken off — everything is 
lost with him — the last hope gone, and the re- 
sponsibility of a life rests upon his hands. His 
property is taken from him — he goes to Europe, 
and loses himself in some country of the old 
world. 

“ This is my theory,” said Bainbridge. “ Is it 
not reasonable, and does it not show sufficient 
strength of purpose to warrant an investigation — 
an investigation which I hope will result in re- 
turning your father to liberty and his home.” 

Miss Crompton was almost overcome by this 
vivid portrayal of the crime as Bainbridge saw it 
in imagination. It was like living over again- the 
dreadful scenes, and the horror of the whole 
thing — the thought that Van Gilding, whom she 
had loved with all the force of her nature, could 
plot to murder her father, fairly unnerved her for 
a time. It was a dreadful revelation to her sensi- 
tive woman’s nature — enough almost to unhinge 
her reason. But her strength of character stood 
her in good stead, and from that hour she joined 
Bainbridge with all her energy, laboring to estab- 
lish her father’s innocence. 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS. 


427 


XLVIII. 

“OUPPOSE that this theory of mine is the true 
one,” said Bainbridge in a further conver- 
sation with Miss Crompton, “ we have taken only 
one step towards securing your father’s freedom. 
The chief difficulty will be to establish the guilt of 
McCaffery and ‘Van Gilding. And there is prac- ' 
tically but one way to do this, and that is by 
forcing a confession from the former. Yetwev/ill 
exhaust every means. I have engaged another de- 
tective to assist Gregory in discovering McCaffery 
or Briggs, by whatever name he may go.” 

“ You have found no trace of McCaffery, then ?” 
asked Miss Crompton, a trifle downhearted. 

“ No, none whatever. But we have found the 
coachman who drove him and Van Gilding on the 
night of the smash up on Riverside Drive. You 
remember I told you that his leg was broken. The 
incident, therefore, is forcibly impressed upon his 
njind. I have had a talk with him and he remem- 
bers both Van Gilding and McCaffery well. 

“ I asked him to what point he was instructed to 
drive. He said to no particular point, but was 
told to keep up Riverside Drive. This, you see, 
tends to confirm my idea that they simply wanted 
to arrange the details of the plot, and chose the 


428 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS, 


brougham, in this out of the way locality, as the 
safest place to talk the matter over.” 

“ That is certainly a reasonable conclusion,” 
replied Miss Crompton, adding — “ but unless we 
can find McCaffery, there will be no hope, will 
there?” 

“ I would not say that,” returned Bainbridge. 
“ Hope should never fail.” 

The search for McCaffery was kept up by 
Phineas Gregory and his assistant till at last they 
found their man. He had gone from bad to worse, 
and was now little better than a wreck. Drink had 
destroyed a vigorous constitution — drink and pos- 
sibly the torments of remorse. He had managed 
to live by doing odd jobs, but was very poor when 
Gregory found him. The detective assumed a 
friendly guise, taking great care not to excite his 
suspicions. After a few weeks’ acquaintance he 
managed to get him a position with Bainbridge, 
where he was employed in packing mail and 
doing one thing and another around the publishing 
house. 

One day Bainbridge sent for him to come into 
his private office and fold some circulars. He h^d 
arranged in the meantime with an inspector of the 
police department, a man well known to McCaffery, 
to be on hand. Miss Crompton had also been 
advised of the plan, and accordingly came at the 
time appointed. A curtain had been hung in one 
corner of the room. Behind this the inspector 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS. 


429 


sk)od, his eyes close to an aperture so that he 
could see everything that went on in the room. 
Bainbridge arranged a small table so that Mc- 
Caffery would face the door as he sat folding the 
circulars. He was then sent for and came in, com- 
mencing his work at once, when the nature of it 
had been made clear to him. 

He had barely got well under way when Bain- 
bridge touched a button and Miss Crompton en- 
tered the room. McCaffery looked up — started — 
took a second look, and, jumping to his feet white 
with fear, made for the door. 

“ Not so fast,” said the inspector, stepping 
quickly from behind the curtain and placing a 
firm hand on McCaffery’s shoulder. “Not so 
fast, McCaffery,” he repeated, in a voice that struck 
terror to the culprit’s heart. 

At this instant Bainbridge touched the electric 
button a second time, and immediately the coach- 
man who drove Van Gilding and McCaffery on 
the night of the accident faced the prisoner. The 
latter recognized him and trembled with fear — 
unnerved and unable to speak. Bainbridge 
touched the button a third time, and in response 
came Phineas Gregory, no longer the “ friend ” of 
McCaffery, but a detective with badge and official 
bearing. The criminal saw — realized all, and 
with knees knocking together staggered, and 
would have fallen but for the support of the in- 
spector. 


430 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS. 


Bainbridge now joined the group, and once be- 
side the coachman was instantly recognized by 
McCaffery, who saw that he had been trapped, 
and in his fear and shattered condition imagined 
that the secrets of his crime were fully known. 
He muttered something unintelligible, shaking all 
the while with fright, his features drawn and 
colorless. 

“ We know all,” said the inspector. “ Here is 
the coachman — you recognize him, I see — the 
man who drove you the night you plotted the 
crime. And here is Mr. Bainbridge — you re- 
member him, too, it is evident — doubtless recall 
the assistance he gave you at the time of the smash 
up, when you were known as Briggs — not Mc- 
Caffery, your real name.” 

The culprit groaned with increasing fear. 

“And here is a memorandum book of yours,” 
said Bainbridge, with penetrating glance — “ see 
your own writing — shows your connection with 
Van Gilding.” 

“ With Van Gilding ! ” exclaimed the prisoner, 
fiercely, speaking for the first time, and with a 
gesture that told his hatred for the latter. 

“You do not seem to like the association,” re- 
plied Bainbridge. 

McCaffery simply scowled. 

“ I thought you were very anxious to see him 
the morning he sailed for Europe, and you just 
missed him at the boat,” continued Bainbridge. 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS. 


431 


This remark still further alarmed McCaffery, 
and convinced him that his career was known. 
With this feeling, and weakened in intellect and 
physical energy, it is perhaps only natural that he 
made no attempt to brave the accusation. 

He was overcome by the sudden revelation and 
the dramatic way in which it was brought about. 
The sight of Miss Crompton alone — her whom he 
had knowm from a little child, and whom, in his 
better days, he loved almost as much as if she had 
been his own offspring — the sight of her suffering 
from her father’s disgrace, was quite enough to 
unnerve him. Altogether, he had not the courage 
and stamina to withstand the force that was arrayed 
against him. He swayed with agitation — now 
showing a cruel, bitter expression, and again the 
victim of abject fear. 

Miss Crompton, though shrinking from the 
miserable wretch, could not help pitying him — 
her old butler, who used to study her pleasure 
and wait upon her with never faltering loyalty. 
The tears would come, try ever so hard to restrain 
them. He saw her hide her eyes in her handker- 
chief and turn away. The sight w^as too much for 
him, and he broke down and cried like a child, 
penitent and miserable. 

The feeling that she had sympathy for him, when 
he had been the cause of all her suffering, touched 
him as nothing else ever did, and amid sobs he 
called to her and begged that she would forgive 


432 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS, 


him, saying at the same time that her father should 
no longer be held responsible for the crime. 

And then followed his confession, brought out 
by skillful questioning on the part of the inspector. 

Bainbridge had diagnosed the case rightly. His 
theory of the killing and the motives that prompted 
the act was so nearly true to the story told by 
McCaffery that it would prove little more than re- 
petition to give the latter’s exact words. He laid 
the blame upon Van Gilding, and charged him 
with instigating the crime. The plot, as Bain- 
bridge had guessed, was to murder Mr. Crompton. 
For performing the atrocious act McCaffery was 
to have been paid a large sum of money by Van 
Gilding. 

“When it was found that the wrong man had 
been killed,” said McCaffery, “ I got nothing but 
abuse from Van Gilding. I went further and fur- 
ther into drink, to try and drown the thoughts of 
my crime, till now I am what you see me — a 
wreck. But for the curse of rum I would never 
have been discharged by your father,” he added, 
bemoaning his wretched fate. 

He then went on and explained how he gained 
admittance to Mr. Crompton’s house, and how he 
effected his escape after the fatal act. The incident 
of the steel letter opener which was supposed to 
belong to Mr. Crompton, and which had much to 
do with his conviction, was explained by McCaffery 
in this way ; 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS, 


433 


“I knew the kind it was and bought one just 
like it, and rubbed it till it looked as if it had been 
worn. It was this new one that I used and that 
was found covered with blood. The old one I took 
from the desk, and with it in my pocket got away 
from the house.” 

Further than this there was little in the culprit’s 
confession that is worth narrating, except to state 
that his story, which seemed to be straightforward, 
made it look very black for Van Gilding. The 
latter’s immediate necessity of raising money — his 
dread of poverty — his hatred of Mr. Crompton — 
his desire for wealth and luxury — in these lay the 
cause — the purpose of the crime, and McCaffery, 
maddened at his dismissal, crazed by drink, led on 
by Van Gilding, became the tool of the latter, 
striking the fatal blow. 


434 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS. 


XLIX. 



HE following day after McCaffeiy’s confession 


'*■ Bainbridge sent Miss Crompton a check for 
five hundred dollars with a note saying that he 
advanced her this sum on the copyright of her 
book. “Your father will be with you in a few 
days,” he continued, “ and you will perhaps find 
use for a little extra money. I can let you have it 
now as well as later, and by the way, judging from 
the demand for the book you will soon be entitled 
to a second check from me.” 

“Another instance of his thoughtfulness and 
generosity ! ” exclaimed Miss Crompton as she 
read the note ; “ only another,” she repeated softly, 
with gratitude and love. “ And the money I need 
so much,” she continued meditatively. “ New 
clothes to buy for father and some extra things 
for the house to make him comfortable and happy 
on his return — poor dear father, and he will be with 
us in a day or two — be with us to stay, to be loved 
and cared for after all these months of cruel im- 
prisonment.” 

When the necessary legal steps had been taken ^ 
Mr. Crompton was set free, pardoned by the 
Governor — pardoned, mind, pardoned for a crime 
which he never committed — not declared innocent 


A TRAGED V OF ERRORS. 


435 


by process of law, but pardoned, pardoned — a par- 
doned convict merely. Behold him when this foul 
suspicion fastened itself upon him — a man of 
manly bearing, in the vigor of health and prime of 
life — a man of influence, station and wealth — happy 
in his home, rich in the love of daughter and 
friends. Contrast this picture, reader, with the 
bowed and haggard man before you and tell me 
if you can trace the likeness. You remember the 
healthy glow of his cheeks and the bright keen 
eyes, merry with laughter. Look now at the dull 
sad orbs, the hollow emaciated cheeks — look 
again before you answer or the resemblance you 
will miss. Two years and a little more since his 
arrest — the arrest of an innocent man. Two years 
did I say ? — yes, scarcely more and yet the change 
is that of twenty frost bound winters. His hair, 
then black and plentiful, is thin and white, and the 
elastic step, tamed by prison chains, is the move- 
ment of an old man weary of life. 

Cruel injustice — legal wisdom, if you please, 
had brought him to this — had robbed him of all 
that made life worth living — filched from him his 
good name — crushed his spirit, broken him in 
health, inflicted untold .suffering upon himself and 
family, branded him as an odious criminal, ruined 
him financially, usurped his freedom, dragged 
him from his home where he dwelt in luxury and 
was warmed by the love of the fairest of daugh- 
ters — dragged from this scene of earthly heaven 


436 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS. 


and rudely thrust him into a prison cell to shrink 
and wither into bitter age. And his redress is 
what ? — this falsely imprisoned man when his 
innocence is finally discovered — discovered not by 
the efforts of the authorities that condemned him, 
but through the kind offices of a friend — his re- 
dress — alas, that is not the word, for all that re- 
mains to him — the most tliat he can hope to get 
is pardo7i — to become a pardoned convict. Oh ! 
shame, shame. Is this our boasted civilization — 
the consensus of legal wisdom — to rob an innocent 
man of all but life, and life itself perhaps oftener 
than we think, and call it justice? Is it not time 
that commonwealths become responsible for their 
acts? If not, and our present laws represent the 
genius of the nineteenth century in dealing with 
crime, then let us not 'proudly flaunt the glory 
of our humanity before the world. 

Mr. Cromwell, the lifelong friend and lawyer of 
Mr. Crompton, met him at Sing Sing and accom- 
panied him to the cozy apartment occupied by his 
daughter and sister. The meeting between the 
reunited family was most touching. It was a 
heart greeting where tears of joy flowed freely — a 
welcome to make one almost forget the cruel in- 
justice he had suffered and cry aloud to God in 
thanks for such happiness as is possible to man. 

After the first hour of ecstatic delight at her 
father’s return. Miss Crompton could not help 
feeling a sense of sadness as she studied his 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS, 


437 


shrunken features and noted the change in figure 
— now bowed and emaciated. 

“ Can it be possible,” she asked herself, sup- 
pressing a sigh, “ that only a little more than two 
years have wrought this frightful change ? Oh ! 
what must his sufferings have been to bring so 
strong and youthful a man to this ?” 

Another matter, too, disturbed her, marring 
further the happiness she had fancied she would 
feel. I refer to the absence of Bainbridge. But 
for him her father would still be behind prison 
walls. Gratitude and love alike suggested to her 
mind that he of all others should be present at 
this reunion. She could not divine the cause that 
kept him away. 

“ His assurances of love,” she meditated, 
“ seemed so sincere, and his interest in me and in 
getting father freed from the stain of crime — all 
go to prove that he was honest in his declarations. 
‘ I think too much of you to allow myself to drag 
you down to my own social level.’ Yes, this is 
the answer I gave him, but now that the stain is 
removed from my name — oh, well, I must not 
think of this,” she sighed softly, her heart yearn- 
ing for the man she loved. 

Everything she could do for her father’s comfort 
was done. She went over her literary triumphs, 
trying to revive the old time spirit in him, but 
that was gone forever — had been withered by the 
stigma of crime and the blighting chill of prison 


438 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS. 


walls. Little by little, through her delicate atten- 
tion and her thoughtful care, he began to im- 
prove. The melody of her voice in speech and 
song cheered him, and he watched her every 
movement with rare devotion. 

To minister thus to him was a loving service, 
and yet there was something wanting to complete 
her happiness. Bainbridge had called but once in 
a week and then his manner was strained and un- 
natural. She could not read him, and found her- 
self becoming more and more anxious as the days 
went by, for she loved him, worshiped him, if 
woman ever worships man. 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS. 


439 


L. 

13 ARELY has there been such a sensation as 
that caused by the discovery of Mr. Cromp- 
ton’s innocence. The papers devoted column after 
column to the subject, reviewing the facts, the 
history of the prisoner, and reproducing much of 
the testimony given at the trial. All who knew 
Van Gilding were stunned on learning of his con- 
nection with the crime. Public sentiment became 
very bitter against him and several detectives were 
detailed with instructions to discover his where- 
abouts that he might be brought to the bar of 
justice and suffer the penalty for his crime. Society 
was both shocked and chagrined. The Cromptons 
had been shunned by this exclusive few as a pes- 
tilence from the hour that suspicion fell upon the 
head of the family. How they could excuse their 
selfish acts was the question. The situation was 
an awkward one for them — especially awkward 
since now Miss Crompton and her literary genius 
were quite as much talked of as the innocence of 
her father. She was the heroine of the hour. 
Pages of her book were quoted in long reviews — 
pages with keenest satire on the society that had 
so cruelly shunned her as soon as misfortune fell 
upon her home. 


440 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS. 


And all this was the wdrk of Bainbridge, who 
with his keen eye for business saw a chance almost 
unparalleled for advertising her book. Without 
consulting her, therefore, he took the liberty of 
divulging the secret to the public, making her 
known as the author of the clever work that had 
caused so much speculation. Not only did he do 
this for the money she would receive from the in- 
creased sale, but because he wished her to have 
the credit before the world for the genius she pos- 
sessed. Little did he imagine the result that 
would follow. He believed that the statement 
would be a genuine surprise coming as it did im- 
mediately upon her father’s release from prison, 
but it proved a sensation that set every one talking. 
Her beauty and charming manner were inordin- 
ately praised by competing journals, vying, it 
seemed, with each other to say the most upon the 
topic of the hour. 

Mr. Crompton’s case awakened strong interest 
throughout the entire country. His social posi- 
tion and the mystery shrouding the crime 
attracted the attention of every one. Now that 
he was discovered to be innocent after many 
months of imprisonment, the interest in him was 
reawakened and intensified. Every one talked of 
the cruel injustice he had suffered, expressing 
strong sympathy for him, and asking each other 
if there was no redress. Side by side with the 
report of his release stood the glowing review of 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS. 


441 


his daughter’s book and the story of her brave 
struggles during his imprisonment, with added 
praise for her personal charms. No sooner had 
these facts reached the public than every one 
sought her book. Orders poured in from every 
quarter. Printing houses and binderies ran night 
and day turning out thousands of volumes, and 
still the demand kept up. No work of fiction, 
perhaps, ever sold with such a rush as this one. 
No work was ever so effectually advertised. The 
sale was phenomenal — enough to make Miss 
Crompton comfortably rich once more, and all 
from the profits of her pen. 

Bainbridge was delighted at her rich golden 
harvest, and at the generous praise she had re- 
ceived from press and public. But his visits to 
her home became less and less frequent. This 
could be accounted for in part by the fact that 
his time was occupied very closely in looking 
after the manufacture of her book and in pushing 
its sale. But this was not the chief cause that 
kept him from her. It was a fancy against which 
his delicately sensitive nature rebelled. She had 
said to him in effect that so long as her father re- 
mained a prisoner she should not marry. He had 
through his own efforts and the expenditure of 
his own money secured her father’s freedom. To 
go to her now and renew his suit, it seemed to 
him, would be little short of demanding her hand 
as a reward for the service he had done her. The 


442 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS. 


thought of this was repellent to him, though he 
loved her with all the force of his generous, manly 
heart. 

Weeks dragged by and the future grew darker 
and darker to him — became darker and darker to 
her. Unable at length to bear the suspense 
longer — a suspense that was blighting her life — 
she wrote a note, asking .if she had in any way 
offended him, expressing at the same time regret 
that he had remained away so long. Her letter 
was well worded and in good taste, but neverthe- 
less told much more between the lines than was 
said in the text. It was the very thing that 
Bainbridge needed to dispel his doubts. He re- 
plied in person, his face cheerful and bright with 
hope, and his coming filled her heart with glad- 
ness. 

After a pleasant half hour’s conversation Mrs. 
Woodman went into another room on some 
pretext or other, .and shortly afterwards Mr, 
Crompton followed her, saying to himself, medi- 
tatingly, as he left the room : “ I told her so — told 
her the story of my own early romance — tr3dng to 
convince her of the folly of her unwise infatua- 
tion. But she could not follow my reasoning 
then. Alas, poor child, the lesson has .cost her 
dearly — cost me — but I must not think of this 
since she is happy now, and loves a man in every 
way worthy of her true heart.” 

On Fifth Avenue, a little way above Seventy 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS. 


443 


Second Street, a very handsome new house had 
recently been built. Its architecture was some- 
what odd but pleasing withal to the eye. From 
the broad bay window one looked out upon Central 
Park with its soft green grass, luxuriant foliage, 
beautiful trees and hardened roadways. In a 
tiny vale of the park, almost directly in front of the 
house, nestled a little lake, bordered by embank- 
ments that sloped upward, and then stretching far 
away were lost in the trees and shrubbery. A view 
too could be had of the vast army of pleasure 
seekers as their gaudy turn outs and stately car- 
riages skirted the winding drives. The song of 
birds, the odor of flower and honeysuckle, borne 
in by the breezes, added to the charm of this 
location. 

It was only a few days after Bainbridge’s call 
upon Miss Crompton that this house was sold to a 
young man. Decorators and furnishers were im- 
mediately set to work, and at the end of a few' 
weeks they had converted it into a beautiful home. 
Money had been spent freely, but not in the accu- 
mulation of showy furnishings. Art had guided 
every purchase, giving a rarely pleasing effect 
throughout. 

Servants were installed and then the house was 
opened — opened with a quiet, charming little 
wedding. Among those present were Mr. 
Crompton and his sister, Mrs. Woodman ; Bain- 
bridge’s father and mother, Goggins and Mr, 


444 


A TRAGEDY OF ERRORS, 


Cromwell, the lawyer. The bride — well, you 
know her name, reader, but I’ll tell it to you never- 
theless — Lela Crompton, happy, beautiful — and 
the groom — Livingston Bainbridge, a manly 
fellow in bearing and acts alike — now rich in the 
love of one of the dearest and sweetest of wives. 


THE END. 


MR. MUNSEY’S BOOKS. 


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MR, MUNSEY'S BOOKS. 


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MR, M UNSETS BOOKS. 


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receipt of the price, $2. 

FRANK A. MUNSEY & COMPANY, 

81 Warren Street, Neiv York. 





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